Roses Are Red: A Rosalie Story
by NotWhoYouThinkThisIs
Summary: Rosalie's tale of bloody vengeance and redemption: her first love destroyed her, will she ever be able to trust her heart again? How will Emmett win the heart of his angel when she's afraid to meet him halfway? RxEm Please Review!
1. The Queen of Kings

Roses Are Red- written by the glamorous writers Justin Saine and Tequila Mockingbird

**Authors' Note:**

Justin: This is our first fanfic, so sorry it's short, we-- 

Tequila: Look! A monkey!! Yay!! 

Justin: As I was saying... 

Tequila: Justin!! Do you see the monkey!!!??? 

Justin: Tequila, I'm trying to get something done here, or didn't you notice? 

Tequila: But, but, but, the monkey will feel unloved!!! And so will I!!! --starts to sob-- 

Justin: Sorry, I was going to say something, but I have to go and comfort Tequila now. So, enjoy the story...

**Disclaimer:**

Us: Why, of course we own Twilight!

--Stephanie Meyer shows up with wrath and a lawsuit--

Us: KIDDING!

Chapter One: Queen Of Kings

I examined the ring _he_ place on my finger some hours back in the dim light of my room. I smiled with a fierce satisfaction as the priceless ring shone brightly. I was finally engaged to one of the few both wealthy and handsome men in the world. My best friend Vera had already married, and she was both poorer and uglier than me—everyone was—so it was about time for me to be engaged, I had been waiting for _ages_. Still, I reflected as I looked at myself in the mirror, I had known it was coming. Royce had been sending me red roses everyday since he saw me at Father's bank. As soon as I saw him I knew he was perfect—he was wealthy, successful, handsome, and I deserved him. How could I not? He was the King and I was the Queen. I was everything anyone ever wanted.

"He could have been a little faster," I grumbled aloud- it sounded like a breathless whisper. As I painted my flawless lips with the finest makeup money could buy, I continued with my musings. "It's not like he had to ask my Father's permission."

It was true. Father had shown his support of Royce right from the start. He knew that my perfection would bring the family to new heights, and I had never doubted him.

"Done." I whispered, flipping my thick blonde hair back over my shoulders. I was ready to head over to Vera and tell her about it. Grabbing my slim, stylish coat I headed out the door, still smiling with the same fierce satisfaction as before, noticing every man's eyes following me as I walked away. Life was perfection.

* * *

I knocked on the door impatiently, she was taking _forever_! It had to have been fifteen seconds by now! I tapped my stiletto heel on the floor to occupy myself and batted my eyes at the passing men, keeping count of how many actually stopped mid-stride to stare (seventeen out of eighteen). When the door finally opened, I forgot my hurry. I hadn't seen Vera in awhile and was eager to do so again.

"Vera!" I squealed when the door opened, throwing out my arms to let her embrace me.

"Shh," she whispered, brown eyes amused but still serious. "He's finally sleeping."

I frowned, still a beautiful expression on_ my_ face. What did it matter that her husband would wake up? Come to think of it why was he sleeping anyway, it was 5PM! Shouldn't he be working or something? People still worked at 5—right? "He's a guy!" I said, laughing musically. "It's not like it takes that long."

Vera smiled timidly. "For him it does" she whispered, hugging me as she did. "Come." She took my hand and led me inside. I cringed as I was towed along the house- it was crowded, stuffy, and over packed. I hadn't been here in a while—why would I? and it seemed more crammed than before. She lead me to a room upstairs which I hadn't seen before—I made it my business never to go farther than the living room, where I could look out the window at my reflection when the conversation became too dull. Once before the door she motioned for silence, and then let me inside.

My frown deepened, why was I being dragged upstairs to see her sleeping husband? I was positive that was a sight I didn't want to see. As the door opened I stopped dead in my tracks, sure I was hallucinating. The room was painted in soft blues and pastel colors. At the far corner of the room was a beautifully built crib where soft snores emerged. This could not be happening. Was this real? As soon as I was engaged Vera had one-upped me, landing herself with a baby and a new family member. I couldn't let her know. I would not let her know that she got to me.

"Boy or girl?" I whispered, gliding forward to the crib to prove to her I was unaffected, unchanged, in total control.

"Boy," She whispered back, giving me a smile full of joy and pride. A mother's smile. "His name is Henry. Look- he's awake."

I figured they'd give him a name like that. Henry didn't have the same ring to it that Royce did. Royce King…. And soon I would be Rosalie King instead of plain Rosalie Hale. I would be his Queen. Thinking these reassuring thoughts I smiled looked down into the crib.

For the first time in my life I was struck dumb. He looked so sweet, so innocent. His eyes twinkled, his dimples flashed as he grinned up at me. Vera immediately began to murmur to him, softly and sweetly… How could she have all of this? For a moment I envied her, I envied her fiercely and with a corrosiveness that shocked me back to reality. Why should I envy her? I would have all that she had, soon. And I would have things she never had… I would have Royce, and my beauty. Always my beauty. After that I was able to smile, and say all that was polite. After all, a King must always be polite, and a Queen even more so. I did leave as soon as I reasonably could—when her husband came home. Seeing him bend down and kiss her until she pulled away and hit his arm, I felt another flash of envy, when Royce kissed me… but I banished those unworthy thoughts. They weren't worthy of him, and especially not of me.

So I left. I left without telling her. I left to see my Royce again, my fiancée. Again I smiled that same satisfactory smile as I walked away from the house. I was ready to start my life with Royce. One day we'd get a little child like Henry, and he'd kiss me like that. We were going to have the perfect life; I was going to be Rosalie King. Everything would be perfect, and I was already perfect… simply perfect.


	2. Dethroned

**REVIEWS MAKE US SMILE! (And write more!)**

**A/N**

Justin: Sorry chapter two took so long, but--

Tequila: Shhhh... they'll hear us!

Justin: Who will hear us?

Tequila: The gov't spies. They're everywhere

Justin: Tequila, don't be ridiculous!

Tequila: But they're watching us... always watching us!

Justin: Okay, Tequila, but I'm not saying anything they would be interested in. I'm just explaining why this chapter took so long...

Tequila: No!! Don't say anything!! ANYTHING!!

Justin: sigh alright, Te--

Tequila: SHH!!!

**Disclaimer:**

Justin: Edward is all mine!

Tequila: What!!! What about me?? Can't you share? –makes puppy dog eyes and starts to sob-

Justin: Ok fine, I'll share him. But only with you!!!!

Tequila: Yey!!! –starts bouncing around-

Rest of the World: NO!!!! –goes into state of depression-

Edward: uh, actually, I belong to Bella…

World: No! Never!!!!!!!!!

Stephenie Meyer: Actually, he's with me.

World: ….fine!

Chapter Two: Dethroned

I walked out the front door, and turned at the last second to catch another glance of Henry, secure in Vera's arms. I had returned several times in the last few weeks, doubtless surprising her. I surprised myself. Something about him seemed to draw me in—it was an odd feeling, to be so utterly consumed with something that affected me so little. Henry was sitting up now, and his smiles, his laugh, his dimples, his curls and shining eyes were so…perfect. Like me. I had been consoling myself with the thoughts that I would soon have perfect babies as well—perfect baby Kings. We'd all be royalty. I turned to go, and frowned at a chill breeze that caught my hair, beautiful as always, and made it dance. The wedding was set for next week in the outdoors. It had been cold for April, and rainy. My wedding day had to be absolutely perfect: warm, sunny, and bright. A day as beautiful as the bride it was to celebrate. Everyone would be able to see me walking down the aisle. But this was an ill wind… it seemed to whisper of worse to come. I shook off the upsetting thoughts—after all, what did I have to be upset about? My life was perfect.

I walked home with my head held high. The beggars around me stopped their activities just to watch me pass. Many of them held flimsy cardboard signs that had "Will Work For Food" scrawled upon them. I rolled my eyes, as if people could pay in food! Besides, they had brought their poor fortune upon themselves, so how was it their right to ask others for pay? I took the long route back home- so that even though I would have to put up with seeing nothing but beggars for awhile, I would walk by Father's Bank and might glimpse the perfection of my future. Father hadn't been home by the time I left, which meant that he had been at the bank, meeting with Royce. I had a chance of catching him when he came out, and showing him how much I _truly_ appreciated his proposal.

A beautiful smile crossed my face, and turned into a grimace when a total stranger gave a disgusted noise, and walked right past me, hitting me partially with his shoulder as he went. My mouth opened in a gasp. How _dare_ he! He must've seen me coming, why didn't he move out of the way? I was Rosalie Hale King! No one did that to me!

"Hey, don't you know who I am?" I demanded, turning around sharply. My skirts twisted around me beautifully then came to a halt in their original points. Front my reflection in a window, I could tell I looked impressive. "Watch where you're going!"

Then I recognized him. Edward Cullen. Dr. Cullen's brother-in-law. No one knew much about them, since they stayed clear of any social gatherings or events. All I knew was that Dr. Carlisle Cullen worked at the hospital, and was one of the few doctors that would treat the poor for free. My fists clenched in my skirt. I hated the Cullen's! They were so…so beautiful. So perfect. More than I was. I shook my head- now that was just absurd. I was perfection. No one was better than me.

The stranger actually stopped and turned towards me. He had to be one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. He had a slender build, with smooth muscles outlining his arms. His hair was the color of bronze, and slightly messed up and frayed. It shocked me that he wasn't wearing a coat- it was night out and quite chilly. He was extremely pale, as if he hadn't received a lot of sun this year. He had bags under his dark eyes, and all his features were straight and angled. He moved with a sinewy grace, with an air of deep sadness and regret about him. Yet, Cullen seemed cold. Lost, even. Like he didn't know his place in the world. He had to have been the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

"_You_ are Rosalie Hale" He replied, giving me a cool gaze. "And _I_ am leaving."

And with that he was gone. I stood there, shaking with fury. How could anyone—even _the_ Edward Cullen—have the audacity to bump into me, not apologize, and walk away, all the while knowing who I was! Come to think of it, how did he know who I was anyway? We hadn't even met. I shrugged it off, flipping my wavy blonde hair over my shoulders. He had probably seen me with Royce at Father's bank sometime. He had to have been jealous of Royce, to treat me so badly. That was probably it.

With a final stomp and a disgruntled cry I turned around, walking to my original destination. Soon I passed my Father's bank—there was no Royce. I sighed—I must have missed him, and I really needed him to distract me from my encounter with that rude stranger. Plus I hadn't properly expressed my excitement of being his fiancée. Royce, like a proper gentleman, had proposed with my Father and a bunch of witnesses in the room (or as I liked to call them, chaperones).

Disappointed, I moved onwards, but just as I was turning a corner I began to hear voices and laughter. A particular voice hit my perfectly chiseled ears. Royce! He was nearby and coming closer. I walked forward with a perfect smile, ready to glorify him with my presence.

Too late did I discover that there were others. They were under a broken streetlamp, and it was dark. The men were laughing way too loudly, they were completely drunk. I stopped in the middle of my way to them. I hoped they hadn't seen me—that way I could simply double back and go around my usual route. But it was too late, he yelled out my name.

**"Rose!" he yelled, and the others laughed stupidly.**

**I hadn't realized the drunks were so well dressed. [**They had to be his friends and associates

**"Here's my Rose!" Royce shouted, laughing with them, sounding just as stupid. "You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long."**

**(Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer, pg 159.)**

I'd seen him toast a bit before, and drink a sip or two, but nothing like this. Nothing like the monster he was becoming before me. I tried to back away, to run, but I was frozen to the spot in fear. For once in my entire life, I didn't know what to do.

**"What did I tell you, John" Royce crowed, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. "Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?"**

**The man John was dark-haired and suntanned. He looked me over like I was a horse he was buying.**

**"It's hard to tell," he drawled slowly. "She's all covered up."**

**They laughed, Royce like the rest.**

**Suddenly, Royce ripped my jacket from my shoulders- it was a gift from him- popping the brass buttons off. They scattered all over the street. **

**"Show him what you look like, Rose! **

**(Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer, pg 159-160)**

I screamed in horror and panic as they advanced on me, pushing me against a wall. They laughed, they kept laughing through it all. They seemed to enjoy my pain the most, striking me often as they began to undress me.

It was then when I realized that I was going to die. Right there, in the dark, dirty street I was going to die. I wasn't supposed to die like this! I was supposed to die happy! My life was going to be perfect! How could it end like this? What happened to the future's perfection? How could I not be getting what I wanted? What I deserved? This wasn't how I was going to leave- it couldn't be! I refused to let these pigs get total satisfaction out of me, no matter how much it hurt. I would not give them what they wanted.

At first I fought back, but that only made them enjoy it more, laughing at my futile efforts of causing them pain or seeking an avenue of escape. They stopped laughing when I managed to knee John in the groin, but then set upon me full force. They kept hitting me, and I tried to defend myself, but they enjoyed it also. No matter what I tried to do they kept laughing and laughing. _Why couldn't I make them stop laughing?_

Suddenly it came to me. What they wanted most was resistance. So then, I wouldn't resist. I let them force me to the ground, I grew unresponsive. It didn't matter what they did, I was worlds away, in the place where I was meant to be, where I was supposed to be. My perfect future, my perfect life. _They're hating this_ I thought over and over. That thought sustained me—that I was stealing away their pleasure by refusing to react. That suited me just fine.

The laughed stopped, they weren't having fun anymore. Once there were finished with me the left me there, in the dark alley to die. I was torn, bleeding, aching. I was done. I was finished. I waited for death to claim me, waited for the pain to stop. Anything would be better than the pain. Off in the distance, I heard Royce joking around with his friends. They said he needed to find a new bride, and he said that he needed to grow patient first. They laughed that stupid laugh, and soon disappeared. I lay there, broken. I wondered why I wasn't dying; the pain was too much for anyone to bear. It started to snow, and the cold bit into me deeply. Watching the flakes soar over my head, I waited. When I was gone, I'd haunt Royce with every bit of my dead being. No matter where I ended up, I'd come back and do everything in my power to destroy that selfish pig. He would pay for ruining my perfection. He would pay for this.

A face appeared above mine. After a few brief seconds of staring blankly up into topaz eyes I recognized who it was: Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Now that was just perfect! Aside from Royce, the Cullen's were the exact people whom I _didn't_ want to see. They were already so beautiful- I hated that they had to look upon me like this. He looked extremely worried, and I heard him muttering something about blood- my blood. I frowned as he started working and inspecting me over. I never liked them. They were all too beautiful. More beautiful than I was. Even Dr. Cullen's wife was more beautiful, and she was older than me! Why did they have to come and ruin my perfection even more? My frowned deepened, but I didn't have the strength to shake my head, tell them to stop, or push them away. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to catch a glimpse of their perfect life, when mine was utterly destroyed. I knew I was beyond human aid.

A faint smiled crossed my lips. _I'm gone_. I felt like I was flying, I was leaving this world. But something was wrong- the pain never stopped. There was a faint pressure on my back and on my side, like I was against a mobile wall. Carlisle was transporting me to heaven. That's why he was so beautiful- he was an angel. Lights went on around me, and warmth seeped through the cold. The pain was lessening, I was grateful that I was finally slipping away.

There was a sharp, slicing, new pain. It attacked my wrists, my ankles, my throat. I screamed, the strength of fear and hate fueling my soul. Did Dr. Cullen take me here just to hurt me more?! What was he doing!? I screamed and screamed, plunging into hell. The fire spread through my blood, burning everything inside, while my skin iced over. I was so cold- but I was burning. I forgot about everything else. I forgot about Royce, I forgot about revenge. I couldn't take this, I couldn't handle the torture.

"Kill me!" I screamed in his face. "I'm done here, just kill me! Please let me sleep!"

The doctor grasped one of my frozen burning hands, and I was in too much pain to slap him. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, true regret burning his in voice, "the pain will end."

I screamed even louder. What was he talking about? The pain would never end, it just kept going. It would always keep going. "Please." I begged, "Please do it."

"I'm so sorry." He repeated. "I promise you, the pain will end. But the process can't be reversed. You can't change what you are now to be."

What the hell was he talking about? The fire shot through me, and I dug my nails into Carlisle's hand to have something to hold on to. I heard a faint noise in the background. Mrs. Cullen and the stranger, Edward, entered the room. I turned to them instead.

"I'm begging you." I pleaded to them. I had never begged for anything in my life, I had just gotten it. "Kill me! Release me from this!"

They shook their heads. The fire pulsed. With a final scream I fell back into hell, and darkness.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up again later. Still on fire, still burning. "Why won't you kill me?" I yelled at Carlisle, who continued to hold my hand. "What are you doing to me??"

"I'm sorry" he whispered, holding my hand tightly while I shuddered and convulsed. "You are undergoing a process... I know it's painful, but I promise you it will end. Soon you'll be indestructible, you'll live again. Rosalie Hale, you aren't human anymore. You're becoming one of us, a vampire. You can't ever go back to what you once were. I'm so sorry."

Is this what he chose to make of my pain? A cracked-up story about mythical creatures? No, my pain was _very_ real. Vampires were myth, things made up in movies and stories to get little kids to come home before dark. Why was he trying to scare me? I already wanted to die. The only fear I had was that the pain would never leave me.

"Just kill me and leave." I rasped, my voice used up from screaming. I began to fade into darkness once more.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

I stopped screaming. It did no good to scream. It just kept coming. Pain, pain, pain. It wouldn't stop. No one would take it away. Make it stop make it stop! STOP HURTING ME!

"What were you thinking, Carlisle?" Voices! They were nearby! "Rosalie Hale?" it continued. By now I had figured out it was Edward. He was the only one who talked that way about _me_. Through my pain I felt fury—fury that he spoke like there was something wrong with me.

"I couldn't just let her die," came a quiet response. That was Carlisle. I remembered his voice clearly from all the time he apologized. He apologized every time I screamed, but his grip on my hand never lessened. "It was too much—too horrible, too much waste."

"I know," Edward said dismissively. I hissed softly from where I was. There _definitely_ wasn't anything wrong with me.

"It was too much waste. I couldn't leave her," Carlisle repeated, passing off my hiss as a reaction to the pain. I had already stopped reacting, just like with Royce. I only wanted it to stop.

"Of course you couldn't." This was a new voice. It sounded gentle and motherly. It had to be his wife; she was the only one left. When I begged her to kill me, she looked down at me with large topaz eyes, full of pity and sympathy. I didn't need that! I needed relief! I wished someone would make it stop….

"People die all the time," Edward retorted, sounding irritated. "Don't you think she's just a little recognizable, though? The Kings will have to put up a huge search—not that anyone suspects that fiend," he growled.

I smiled from where I was. They knew who was guilty. Everyone's beloved King. I seized up, my hands in a clawed position. My skin iced over, my blood was slowing down. My heart, which had been pumping violently the entire time, had begun to slow down. It couldn't take the strain. My smile grew. It was only a matter of time before I died.


	3. Adjustments

**A/N**

Justin: Now, Tequila wrote this chapter all by herself, and she's very proud of it, aren't you Tequila?

Tequila: Yes-yes-yes!!!

Justin: -whispers- So if you don't like it, don't say anything—she'll be crushed.

Tequila: What cha saying Justin? Huh? Huh?

Justin: Um… nothing?

Tequila: OKAY!!

**Disclaimer: **Do you really think we'd be writing a fanfic to our own novel???

Chapter Three: Adjustments

My eyes opened slowly, dreading what I might see… Dr. Cullen sat in a chair next to the divan. When he saw me move he immediately leaned forward, his expression uneasy.

"How are you feeling?" I looked back at him, and sat up. As I did. My hair fell in my eyes and I reached up to brush it away—but stopped to stare at my hand. It was… perfect. Not that I wasn't usually perfect, but there had always been that one knobby place on my wrist, and I distinctly remembered scraping the knuckles of that hand, trying to… well. Needless to say, the hand, arm, was now absolutely perfect: smoothly pale skin, delicately formed fingers. I noticed now that my hair was even blonder, even silkier than I was used to. And I hadn't brushed it since… that morning. I caught my breath. He had been ranting about something, and I hadn't been paying much (well, any) attention. I stood, and looked wildly about for a mirror. I found one and ran to it. The face that stared back was mine, and not mine. The hair was familiar but—better. The flips were perhaps a bit fuller, the annoying little bump near the chin was gone, the skin was, as usual, perfect, but now noticeably paler, the bones in my cheeks and nose slightly more chiseled. This I could recognize. But the eyes were not mine. Never mine. They were red— as red as the roses Royce had brought to me each night. A bloody, bloody red, and… hungry. I gasped—and suddenly realized I had been holding my breath. I had felt nothing.

As if I had called it up, I noticed now the burning in my throat, the aching thirst, the pulse… I whirled and ran out of the room. The doctor's wife stood there, her eyes sympathetic. I ran into her arms and burst out crying. Except—I couldn't. I couldn't cry.

She held me as I shook. It was agonizing. The wetness in my throat… even though my mouth was slick with it, it did nothing to counteract the agonizing thirst, only making it more distinct, sharper. She rocked me back and forth, murmuring. Even though her voice was impossibly low, I could hear every work she said distinctly. I refused to speculate what that might mean. "Shh… Esme's here, it will be alright. Everything will be alright now, Rosalie Lillian Hale. Shhh…" she was exactly what I needed—calm. I calmed down myself, but the burning, aching thirst didn't go away. I looked up at Esme and she smiled wistfully. "You're thirsty. Come this way—"

I recoiled. "No. I can't drink… blood. I won't do that—I'll die first. I won't do that to an innocent person—" Not like Royce. Not like…. Me.

"No! No, no. we don't drink from people. You can take charge of your own destiny." I nodded, appeased. I liked the idea of being in charge again, like I had been before. Always like I had been before.

Esme led me out through the house and outside. We were on the edge of a wood, and the sensual overload of the forest was like a blow. I could smell everything: the moisture in the air, the … blood in the creatures, the trees. I could hear their little hearts beating, the tiny sounds they made, the wind (indistinguishable to a human, I was sure, but I felt it) rustling the blades of grass almost imperceptibly. The thirst only grew worse, the longer I stood there with Esme. She took my hand and suddenly I was running, so fast it exhilarated me. The wind buffeted my face; I could feel the impacts of the tiny air molecules. It was amazing—almost as good as driving my Camaro with the top down, and feeling the wind. I always thought the damage to my hair (of which there was always plenty) was worth it. Before I could fully absorb the feeling (the first real pleasure I'd felt since leaving Vera's) we stood in a clearing. I waited, perfectly still. Esme whispered in my ear "Let go. You'll know what to do." I waited still. Then, so fast my logical mind could hardly process what I was doing, I scented my prey and pounced, my teeth in the—deer's?—neck, its sweet blood cooling, but not quenching (never quenching) my thirst.

I hunted until the sun hung low in the sky, never quite sating my thirst. We returned 'home'. Back to the Cullen home, where Carlisle and Edward waited. Oh, perfect. What a way to ruin the mood from the run.

We entered the house, and Esme murmured, "Carlisle." Almost before she finished speaking, both Dr. Cullen and Edward were there. I frowned. How did Edw—

"I heard her."

I blinked at him. He coughed, slightly… uneasy?

"I can, eh, read thoughts." What?! That little… he was listening?! My thoughts were private—it wasn't fair!

"Life's not fair; didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

Argh! It was supposed to be unfair in my favor! When he started to laugh I immediately began to think of other things… uh … _un deux trios quatre cinq six sept huit neuf dix onze douze treize quatorze quinze seize dix-sept dix-huit_…

I was bored, and exhausted. Not physically exhausted, but mentally exhausted. It was extremely difficult to keep my thoughts blocked every second. But I couldn't let Edward in, I wouldn't. Ever. Those thoughts were _mine, _and no one else's!

Dr. Cullen had been kind, and I knew he hadn't ruined my life out of malice, but it was… difficult… to be around him, to talk with him, normally—especially since he didn't seem at all affected by me. I didn't need love, but a bit of aesthetic appreciation can do a lot for me on a bad day. And most of my days now were bad ones. I didn't have anything to do. I didn't want to hunt, I couldn't go anywhere for fear of encountering a human, I didn't want to spend time with the doctor, and dear Esme, my only solace, was busy. Even though I'm sure I couldn't think of anything more important than keeping me occupied. After all, it was their fault I was bored. All she said was I could spend some time with Edward. Ha. Fat chance. He was rude, and annoying, and not at all interested. How dare he? I was perfect! I'd didn't want him, but I did want him to want me. Then at least I could reject him, and that would be something to DO!

…. Plus, it felt weird not being wanted.

I paused in my rant when I heard a sound it would be faint—imperceptible even—to any normal ear, but I heard it clearly. It was a sort of a clanging, then a curse. I recognized the voice. Edward. What was he doing? I followed the sound, barely taking five minutes to make sure I looked presentable. I scowled a bit at the eyes, still bloody red. Dr. Cullen assured me the color would fade, and change to gold in a year or so I stopped frowning when I noticed it wrinkled my otherwise perfect browThe sole consolation in all this was that I was (if that was possible) even more perfectly beautiful now than I had been as a … human. I glided smoothly downstairs, and saw a door I hadn't noticed before… I thought back to the tour Esme had given me... it was the door to the underground garage. I smiled. I loved cars, loved driving them, working on them, everything about them. I'd had my own car, and turned its headers myself until father had made me stop, he said it wasn't ladylike. I smiled again, albeit wistfully. Father would never tell me what to do again. I continued down, to see Edward scowling blackly at a Chevy Eagle up on jacks, fingers smeared with grease. I wondered what—

"It's the fuel rail. It's not spraying." Stupid mind reader. _Un deux trois_ "Oh, please, don't. I've heard enough counting in French this week to make me never want to go there again."

"Again? You've been?"

He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Yes… a few years ago… I didn't stay long."

I blinked. I'd always wanted to go to France, why would he not stay? What could—

"I was not a sightseer."

Oh, drat. He smirked, likely at my uncomplimentary thoughts. To test his 'powers' I purposely said nothing, merely thinking _What where you doing to the car?_ He frowned, and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving greasy smears. "I was trying to see if the problem's with the fuses." I blinked. "Why don't you follow the wires? It could be a wiring problem—the injector harness could be burned through." He blinked. "What do _you_ know about car mechanics?"

"Quite a bit more than you know, it seems" I retorted, stung but unwilling to admit it. He looked at me, and smiled.

"Well, then, come here at give me a hand with this?" I smiled back. This, at least, would be something to do…

**A/n: Um… Tequila's sobbing in the girls' bathroom because we have over a hundred hits and only three reviews (thanks to herenbdy, edwardsangel56, and hangliderswing). I cannot get her out- she's locked the door!!- and so, PLEASE PRESS THE PRETTY BUTTON BELOW AND REVIEW**.

Sorry. Got a bit carried away there…

-Justin


	4. Cupids and Cupidity

**A/N: **

**Justin: WOW! We are so, so sorry this has taken so long!**

**Tequila: But my computer crashed, and I lost the first draft…**

**Justin: And then I was in Brazil with no computer access…**

**Tequila: And then we had… midterms! -shudders at the thought-**

**Justin: And then I couldn't find my meds, and we had a fun time with that…**

**Tequila: And we're truly sorry, and I pinky promise to update faster next time… but extra special thank you to ****SMARTALIENQT for the cookies!!!! They were delicious… how did you know my favorite kind???**

**Disclaimer:**** If we were Stephenie Meyer, don't you think this chapter would have come out much, much faster!?!**

Chapter Four: Cupids and Cupidity

Nine months. Nine months had passed since my journey to eternity. Nine months since my life had ended. Nine months since I had spoken to any human. Nine months from first joining my new family. Nine months since Royce. Nine months since my death. Nine months. Nine months since I had seen his face…. Henry…

I had been doing better, managing the time fairly well. I worked fastidiously on my perfection- my beauty- and also, I worked on cars. Edward and I spent a lot of time together in the garage, talking whenever we felt the need and adding to the cars' makeup diligently. Sometimes we had contests to see how fast and strong we could make them, then we'd have races and play chicken. Those days were my favorites. Since we both knew that neither of us would die from anything as puny as a car, we'd often collide head on. I loved it. He was my brother. We became true family.

I shook out my long, perfect blonde hair behind my shoulders as I pushed away a twinge of guilt. I knew cars were expensive, and experimenting on them cost even more. But Carlisle and Esme came from old money, and so I know they could afford it. There was a knock on the door, and I turned just as Esme walked in. _Speak of the devil…_

"Hey beautiful," Esme said with a doting smile. _And she shall appear…._

"Hey Mom." I replied, turning to back the mirror. I wonder what she wanted, what was so damn important that it had to interrupt me getting ready. I was perfection, and nothing less. I couldn't go out there being anything less. It wasn't possible. I would never go out there unprepared. I would always be ready. Ready for everything. I would not be taken by surprise again.

"Do you know what day it is?" She suggested coyly, standing by the door frame. I sighed. Apparently I would have to play her game.

"No. What?" I asked, somewhat rudely. That's what she got for barging in here…

"Valentines Day." Esme grinned, showing her pearl teeth.

My heart dropped. My head spun. My world fell apart. Valentines Day? Impossible. It couldn't be. My last Valentine… had been…him. He would be the last one to remember. There would be no one else. I began to feel sick, to feel physically ill. This couldn't be happening. My last Valentine…. A murderer.

I shook my head. There was no way I would remember this holiday with _him_. No way. I refused. I refused to even acknowledge his presence in that matter. Yes, that was it. I would simply focus my attention on everyone else. Royce King would not ruin my favorite holiday. He would not ruin what this meant. He would not ruin what was left of me.

I took a deep breath. There was Robbie, age 11. He admired me for ages, always following me around like a puppy dog. Howie, at 13. He always bought me gifts and left them on the porch. He was one of the more original ones. Walter, 16. He positively _adored_ me. I smirked. He had been easy to train.

"Rose?" Esme asked worriedly, wondering why I hadn't responded. "Honey?"

Her words drove me back to the cold, bitter reality. Her love for me, so unlike the males, was a mothers' love. A true feeling she would never experience. Like our diet, she could only substitute. My fists clenched. Although I called her "Mom" she was like me, and I could never be a mother. Henry…. Anything like him…. Would never be mine. Could never be mine. I could never bear a child. I would have no one to take care of, no one to enjoy, no one to love. Those gleaming, bright eyes, full of satisfaction and wonder…. No. They weren't mine. They would never be. I had won the battle, but lost the war. Royce had destroyed me. To him I was still dead. I had no hope for the future. There was nothing for me. No baby, no family, no smiles, no laughter, no happiness, nothing. No future. I was gone.

"I hate Valentines day!" I shrieked, tearing out of the room to my one place of comfort: the garage. Working with cars often kept my mind- and my hands- busy. There I wouldn't think of Henry, of babies, of Royce. I snapped off a side-view mirror. I wouldn't think of that bastard who ripped out my future out from under me. Who took my life away. I flung the mirror on the floor, watching the glass shatter into many fragments. What could I do? I was already dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

_Ow_. A small sliver of glass had cut my foot, the force of which I had smashed it hurting even me. I bent down and picked up the piece, bringing it up before my face. I saw my angry expression. My blazing eyes, my stiff posture, my set chin. It was then when I realized something. I crushed the sliver with my bare hand, and let the powder slide to the ground while I relished the power.

_I_ was Rosalie Lillian Hale. _I _was one of the strongest beings on the planet. Royce was a puny, insignificant human _toy _who had torn out my future. I couldn't ever see Henry again because of him. He had to pay. He would. He had gone on in life far too complacent for his own good. Now I would truly be on top. By killing the King, I would become Queen, and rule over his world of mortals. I would make it painful, far more painful than my changing. He would fear me. He would drop to his knees and beg. He would writhe in pain and beg for it too stop. I would see him do it. I would make him do it. He would watch as I destroyed everything and anything around him. The world he knew would be gone. No one hurt Rosalie Lillian Hale! No one ruined _my_ wedding! I would be damned before I let this lie!

"That's a pretty bad mentality." Edward remarked with a smirk, leaning nonchalantly against the door. "You're already damned."

"It's a figure of speech, you figure it out." I snapped, the anger still thick in my voice. I turned away from him dramatically, thoughts of revenge still clouding my mind. I was set. If Royce still lived, I would do this. It had to be planned perfectly, not a single detail could be wrong. But would they try and stop me? I frowned.

Edward was already shaking his head. "No." he said, golden eyes attaining a darker tint. "I won't stop you."

I turned towards him, surprised. He was just like Carlisle, insisting on holding our new diet with strict standards.He was such a goodie-goodie, exactly like Carlisle -always perfect- never slipping up, holding to our diet without a single imprecation. He'd never tasted human blood, I was sure. I shuddered involuntarily. As if I would bite Royce. Just the thought of his unworthy blood in my still veins made me sick. If Royce became a vampire, alive for eternity…. that thought made me want to vomit. If I could, I knew I would have.

"And why not?" I hissed, eyes blazing. "You think I won't see this through? Do you think I'll actually give up?"

Edward shook his head. "I know what it's like to resist. I know how bad it is… at first."

My eyes narrowed. What was he going on about? "…What did you do?"

Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I fled. I broke Esme's heart and fled. I couldn't stand this diet. I wanted to feed, my body needed human blood. I thought that, by only targeting rapists and murderers, I would be doing good. I'd be doing God's work. I'd get into heaven…" He paused.

"Two years. For two years I did this. That was how long it took until I discovered I was truly a monster, no better than them. We are monsters, Rosalie. We are worse than those rapists, those murderers. They at least have souls. They have the ability to feel guilt. Not like us, Rosalie. That's just how we feed. We kill to survive. In the end I came back. I couldn't stand myself anymore.

Worse? Than them? As if. As if I, Rosalie Hale, weren't better than anybody- human or vampire. I was definitely better. No one was better than me. A monster? Never. Royce was a monster. The people who destroyed me were monsters. They had to be taken care of as well.

"Good." I stated. "You won't stop me then."

He shook his head. "I won't even tell."

I smiled. "Thank you….brother. Now what are you doing here?"

Edward gave a crooked hint of a smile. Those came few and far between so I knew this had to be good. "Esme wants us together for St. Valentines Day."

For once I was glad I was a vampire. If I were a human I would have suffocated, I was laughing so hard. Edward was annoying, stuck-up, overbearing, and proper. All together he made a very nice brother. But having him as a boyfriend? Even he found it amusing.

"You can't be serious!" I managed to choke out.

He nodded, a long suffering expression on his face. "As I live and breathe… or not, as the case may be. So…" he frowned, sighed, and reached behind his back, "will you be my Valentine?" He actually had a bouquet of flowers. Lord.

"What, no chocolates?" I raised a gorgeously sarcastic eyebrow. "I'm hurt."

He snorted. "What, I should waste good chocolate on you?" I glared at him. _Obnoxious, insufferable jerk_. "Hey! I got you flowers!"

I sniffed. "As if I want them." He shrugged, and made as if to throw them away. "No!" I couldn't bear to let this holiday go by without receiving at least one bouquet. Last Valentine's Day there had been heaps of roses and violets, lilies too… but I wouldn't think about that. Those came from _him_, and were therefore worthless. "I'll keep them. It's not _their_ fault you're annoying," I grabbed them and sniffed: secretly I was rather pleased. Flowers from a half-hearted giver were better than no flowers at all, and they were very nice. The several different types of orchids and verbena made a lovely looking -and lovely smelling- bouquet.

"Since Esme's going to be crushed unless we spend some time together today… what do you want to do?" Edward said this very quickly, as if to get it over and done with.

"Please. Why is this so important to her?" Couldn't she tell I was completely uninterested in Edward and he was (impossibly!) uninterested in me?

"She sees, but she doesn't want to believe. She's convinced that I'm lonely."

"Could you stop that! I hate it when you answer what I think instead of what I say!"

He made a face. "I can't help it. Do you really think I _want_ to hear every shallow thought that passes through your mind?"

"Just leave me alone, alright. I need to think."

He shook his head. "Sorry, Rosalie, nothing doing. Where do you want to spend the day?"

I scowled. Drat. "Fine. We can… take a little trip to Rochester."

His eyes widened. "Rosalie! What kind of games are you playing?" I glared at him. _No games. I want to see… someone. I promise, though, this is just reconnaissance. No one will get hurt- this time. _

"Alright," he sighed in defeat, "Rochester it is… we'll take the Eagle."

"Must we?" Edward's car was a piece of junk.

"Yes, or no trip."

Fine. An Eagle would do, anything would do, so long as I received my just retribution. They would pay. They would all pay. Donald, Jack, Ralph, John, and Royce. I would come back from the dead, and extract my vengeance. I could almost picture the agony on their faces… it would be perfect.

* * *

It was…strange… to be in Rochester again. Everything was the same, but at the same time, so very different. The Trents had moved. There was a For Sale sign in front of their house. I idlywondered why. 

Edward turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't the Depression ring any bells?"

I blinked. _The what?_ "But father—"

"Your father was a very lucky man. His bank hadn't failed… yet."

"Father's bank won't fail. It can't."

He still looked skeptical. "Why do you think your parents were so eager for you to marry Royce?"

I sat back in my seat. I had never thought of it that way I had spent time, certainly, brooding over my past, trying to fix it in my mind. Esme had mentioned casually that your human life faded. I could never allow that to happen. I spent time, each night, when the rest of the world slept, remembering. I reviewed my family, my beaux, and my accomplishments. I spent time on the best compliments I'd received, the best outfits I'd worn, and what my room had looked like. But most of all, I remembered that night—the weather, colder than usual, the panic, the pain, the anger. Always the anger and the burning desire for justice. I could still remember most things, but I had lost my mother's face a few months earlier. I'd panicked. Luckily Esme had saved the newspaper reports of my "mysterious disappearance" which included a photograph of the grieving parents. It was, of course, very grainy, but I could see her face. I didn't know her hair color, though: just that it had been light. The same shade of blonde as mine? Was that where… Edward's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Well? This is your trip, where do you want to go? Keep in mind that you may still be recognizable, so I cannot recommend too-close contact with humans."

I paused for a moment, thinking. I wanted to see Henry, of course, if only from a distance… and I wanted to find them. I wanted to kill them, to destroy their smug superiority and watch them beg hopelessly for the mercy they hadn't shown me.

"The corner of Britton and Valleycrest," I said to Edward. Donald's house. Edward looked worried. "Don't worry, Edward—I'm not going to do anything... except take a look."

He sighed, but turned the Eagle towards Britton Road. We drove past the house, looking completely normal. No one would ever have guessed that we were two vampires driving past the home of a killer. I could feel a heartbeat in the living room, and we waited until Donald came into view. I wanted to see him. Well, I wanted to leap out of the car and rip his head from his body, then tear him into a thousand tiny pieces and burn the shreds that were left. But I restrained myself, barely. Then I gave Edward the next address. Ralph. We pulled up and parked. I couldn't hear anything in the house. We waited. The angle of the light changed, sending shadows sliding through the car. We sat, silent, as they lengthened. I was bored, until I realized I could catch sight of myself in the side mirrors wonderfully from where I was sitting… I almost always drive, and when you're driving, you obviously have to pay attention to the road, but now I was fine. I fixed my hair, and then just sat back and admired myself. Goodness, I was attractive…

Suddenly, he straightened in his seat. "There's a seriously nasty mind coming in from the left." His face was all twisted up in revulsion. I peered across him out the window. It was Ralph alright, looking intoxicated. Perfect. It was easier to drive away from him than it had been to leave Donald alive. His time would come… and it would be sweet revenge when it did.

"Just one more. Montclair Drive, just in from Gardham Road." Edward gave another sigh, but backed the car out onto the street again. It was a longer drive to Jack's house, and as we drove I pondered, my mind far away from the familiar streets. Now that I knew where to find them… who first? Ralph, most likely… I wanted Royce to be last, that much was certain. I was shaken out of my daydreams by Edward's voice.

"Unless there's something about him you didn't tell me, or the address you gave me is wrong."

"Huh?" I peered out of the window. A middle aged man was carrying a small child out onto the lawn. What? That wasn't Jack—but this was his house, I knew it was. We'd gone to a party there, just after Royce and I had become engaged. I remembered the windows, the living room… I had looked stunning that evening, as usual, in a deep violet gown. Every man in the room had been staring at me with unconcealed desire and at Royce with blatant envy…

"Rosalie? If you have finished obsessing over your own attractions…" he let his voice trail off suggestively. Humph. Who was he to talk? Not that he obsessed over himself. But then, there wasn't much to obsess over, where he was concerned. I mean, he was alright, but nothing approaching my level. Not that much could. I shot him a glare. "Well… Jack must have moved." Damn. Now how would I find him? I could not forgo my revenge. I wouldn't. It wasn't fair—the world couldn't ask that of me, could it?

"You might try the post office, to see if he left a forwarding address, or the records office at wherever he worked. I'm sure," and his voice dripped sarcasm, "that you will be able to convince the poor boy behind the counter to release the information." Perfect. I would find Jack, and take care of him, then come back for Ralph and Donald. Give Royce some time to start sweating… to hear about the deaths, to wonder if it might be me, to disregard that as foolish but still worry…

"One more." An address I would never forgetnot for all eternity. I would see Henry… and see his mother, who was not me, who could never be me, holding him and loving him… the envy was corrosive. It seemed to burn through me. Vera. She had what I didn't have, what I could never have. By what special chance of luck had she been so blessed? Was I born underneath an unlucky star, to be so cursed, while someone so ordinary, so banal…

"The address, Rosalie?" Edward's voice was impatient.

"Champlain Street, between Jefferson and Epworth."

I was impatient, during the drive, asking Edward to hurry, bouncing in my seat. Even if I couldn't hold him, couldn't come close to his tiny perfect little eyes and dimples and curly hair, I would see him. I could watch from a distance, hidden. We turned onto Mt. Hope Avenue. I was excited. Just across the river, and I would see Henry. He should be walking now—he was nearly fourteen months old. It pained me to think of what I had missed. I could barely wait. But when we pulled up to the house, there was no one there. It looked dark, neglected. I was furious. It was nearly seven o'clock. How dare Vera be out with him—he might catch cold! Did she not know that it was February, it was cold out, it wasn't good for him to be out this late, in this weather—he would become ill! How dare she, she was unfit—

"Rosalie! You are giving me a headache!" He scowled at me. I glowered right back. "We're going home. You can see him some other time—Esme and Carlisle will worry." He was such a sap, always fretting about whether or not they were happy. As if he had really wanted to join them, to choose this life any more than I had. It frustrated me, that he wouldn't, or couldn't wake up and face reality.

I snorted. "They're more likely to get ideas." This whole idea was ridiculous. Couldn't they tell that we were completely unsuited for one another?

"Well… that too," he sighed. I knew he was right, I really did… but it was hard. To be so close to Henry but not to see him… I would come back, I vowed, and find him. I had too. I had already gone too long without the sight of him… nearly a year, now. I could not wait any longer.

* * *

I strolled into the records office. I was lovely: perfect hair, an elegant dress by Madeleine Vionnet, and heels. I sauntered over to the clerk's desk. "Excuse me, sir?" His head snapped up and his mouth dropped open. Perfect. When I used that voice, I _expected_ a reaction. "I was hoping you could help me out with a little problem of mine?" 

He swallowed, and with my perfect vision, I could discern a trickle of sweat on his brow.

"Uh, what, what seems to be your, uh, problem, miss?"

"Please," I purred, "call me Anne-Marie." I'd always liked that name.

He swallowed again. "Uh, Anne-Marie."

I frowned slightly, and tried to look sad. "My dear cousin, Mr. Jack Hopner, has moved, and I seem to have lost his new address. I was hoping you could tell me…" I let my voice trial off suggestively.

He blinked a bit. "Well, uh, miss—"

"Anne-Marie, please," I interjected quickly, adding a smile.

"Anne-Marie, we're not supposed to let out this sort of information," I gave him pleading eyes, "But since you're a relative, then." He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder, leafing through it slowly. I restrained my impatience at his dallying. I didn't yet have the information I needed. He finally found the piece of paper, and read it off to me. La Porte Street, Forksville. I would remember that. Jack would pay. And soon. I thanked the clerk until he blushed, and left the office. Forksville.I could run there—a bus might be faster, but in the mood I was in, traveling in such close quarters with a bunch of humans was probably unwise. So I would run.

* * *

I went to Edward in the car. He was looking out ahead past me. "I'll see you later then?" 

"Yeah," I nodded. "Say we got into a fight over this piece of junk you call a car, that should please her."

He sighed. "If you say so." He left.

* * *

The house was dark. Jack was asleep. Perfect. His life would be ripped away from him with as little warning as mine had been. I slipped silently into the house by the back door—it wasn't even locked. Stupid. But then, he thought I was dead. I winced, the expression marring my perfect face. I _was _dead. And soon, he would be too. I inhaled. He was upstairs, and slightly to the right of me. Quicker than the thought could complete itself in my head, I was standing outside of the bedroom that smelled occupied. I opened the door. Jack was lying on the bed, asleep. I inhaled again, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath from the doorway. I paused a moment, musing. Quick, or slow? He was a monster, and deserved to die, but I wanted to save my true revenge for Royce. He would hear of Jack's death, and think nothing of it. But then Donald and Ralph would die, and he would be worried. Then John, and Royce would cower in terror. I grinned, and it was not a human grin. It was the smile of a predator that scents her prey. Tonight, I was a hunter, and this man was only small game. I had decided. _Quick._ I stepped up to his bed. _But not too quick._ I leaned down by the headboard. 

"Hello, Jack."

He came awake with a snort, and looked up at me. "Huh…"

"That's alright, I wouldn't expect you to remember a face you only saw once… at night…"

His eyes widened in sudden recognition and he was just opening his mouth: whether to beg, to scream, or to bluster I would never know, because just then was when I reached out and snapped his neck with a single, elegant motion. I didn't want his blood anywhere where it might tempt me to drink from him. I knew only too well that my control was shaky. He fell back onto the bed, dead. Perfect. I walked out of the house as silently as I had entered. An unsolved homicide would attract enough attention for Royce to hear about it soon. Everything was falling into place. I reached out and fluffed my hair slightly. No sense in looking less than my best, even when the whole point was not being seen…

**A/N:****Please, please, please, if you are reading this, look deep into your heart. Do you really want to have the knowledge that the fact that you are too jaded, bored, or rushed to spend less than 10 seconds reviewing this story will rip our hearts into tiny little pieces and stomp on them? Can you live with yourself? We are not asking for Tolstoy: even "um… it's okay" is better than nothing; even flames are better than nothing, even reviewing and just leaving the letter M (our lucky letter!!!) is better then the sick, sad, abandoned feelings that grow in our souls when we see "274 hits. 10 reviews. Or: 110 hits. 7 reviews." If you have nothing to say, or you're in a continual hurry, just click the nice button that says "Submit Review" and type the letter **_**m**_**. It doesn't even need to be a capital M. Really. We're happy with anything we get. Thanks.**

**-NotWhoYouThinkThisIs**


	5. A Dish Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

**Tequila**: Tequila is very sorry she broke her pinky promise to update faster next time… she will be better if people will review!!

**Justin**: but since we participate in the school play… we were at rehearsals every day for the last two weeks (including weekends) and were tres busy.

**Tequila**: _Ima, watashi wa netai_!!! (I want to sleep now, _a la japonais_)

**Justin**: we have this chapter now… which pleaseth us. However, we have 14 reviews and over 500 hits for this story. That means for every 36 people who read this, only one of them reviews. 36:1 is not a very good ratio. This pleaseth us not. Right Tequila?

**Tequila**: I like blue. Blue is pretty. The background on my computer is blue. Blue is a lot like purple. Purple is my favorite color. I like purple. It's so pretty, and purple, and purple, and pretty, and…

**Justin**: sigh

**Disclaimer** We closed our eyes and wished really, really hard that we owned Twilight, but nothing doing… DRAT!!

Chapter Five: A Dish Best Served Cold

I was back, this time in the dark of night, and alone. I was back in Rochester, the city of my birth, my death, and now my rebirth in vengeance. I was back with the blood of a man on my hands—only not literally. Ick. The blood might erode my careful control—and it would definitely ruin my new bias-cut gown. (What? A girl, or vampire, likes to look her best when she tracks down and slays the murdering bastards that ruined her life.) I stalked down Adelline Avenue, a silent harbinger of doom. It was a pleasant evening, the moon barely a sliver in the sky, cloudless and starry. It would have been cold, for a human—March was still winter in Rochester, although luckily there was no snow to bear witness to my silent passage. I turned onto Windsor and ghosted to the back of Ralph's home. I listened: from the… noises… upstairs, he was both not asleep and not alone. The lout. I decided not to wait—I wanted to see Henry. I could deal with Ralph another night. I ran this time; I was eager to see him. But when I slipped into his room, it was empty. I paused, perplexed. Had he moved into another room? Had they all moved? I stood in the vacant room for what seemed like eternity, though it was probably an hour. Then I shook myself. They couldn't possibly have moved: I recognized the trace scent of Vera still clinging to the house even from the slight whiffs of her I'd received with my inferior human nose. I didn't have time to waste on this nonsense… I would see Henry again soon, and I had a purpose. Donald waited. Soon I was outside his house, listening intently. All I heard was one steady heartbeat and breath. He was sleeping. I entered the house, ascended the stairs noiselessly, and was standing by his bed in a matter of moments. I smoothed my dress and bent down.

"Donald…" my voice was silky-smooth, "your destiny is calling…"

He stirred and mumbled. His eyes came open slowly, then widened at the sight of me. "Who're you?"

"Hmm… you can call me Nemesis." The Greek goddess of revenge sounded just about right.

"Nemshi…?"

I sighed. "Tut, tut, tut. Your classical education leaves something to be desired. Perhaps another name, since you are having so much trouble with that one." I leaned forward until my lips were almost touching him. "Does this one ring any bells? Rosalie. Lillian. Hale."

He paled, and scooted back against the headboard, his eyes dilated with terror. I reached out and gripped him by the neck, then twisted. There was a satisfying snap as his spine shattered. I sighed happily. Two down, three to go… this was going perfectly.

I was back for Ralph, and in a rush. I wanted to finish him and get to Georgia. John was waiting, and I could not afford to waste any more time. They said that revenge was a dish best served cold. My soul felt like it was made of ice. I was in his yard in a flash, barely pausing long enough to ascertain that he was alone this time. When I reached his room, I strode over to the bed.

"Ralph, do you believe in Judgment Day?"

He came awake quickly and stared up at me with incomprehension. I snaked my arm out and seized him by the throat.

"Because, I do, and I think it's arrived. For you." I tightened my grip, taking a vicious pleasure in the way he gasped for air, and slowly turned pale, then blue. I finally grew impatient, and broke his neck in one clean movement. Perfect. I was careful to spill no blood—even though I'd hunted before coming, bringing down two wildcats and a deer, I couldn't be too careful. I was strong enough now that I could be fairly close to people and not want to rip their throats out and suck up the delectable blood. Much. But my control was still slightly shaky… and the last thing I wanted was to get careless and drink from one of these murdering sons of bitches. I wanted nothing of them inside me ever again. I was strong now. I was beautiful and perfect. I did not need their tainted blood. I didn't need anything, except my revenge. And that would come soon. Now I just had to find John… and then Royce.

* * *

I liked Georgia. Even if I had to skulk in the shadows, and sneak around at night, it was a beautiful state; a fitting foil to my perfection. It was a state with history, with dignity… elegance. I had loved Cabin in the Cotton, with Bette Davis. I grinned to myself and tried on my best southern accent, "Ah'd like to kiss ya, but ah jest washed ma hair." Or was Cabin in the Cotton even set in Georgia? I had only seen the movie twice… Madge had been a wonderful character. I'd seen the movie with Royce…

His name recalled me to my purpose. I needed to find John. All I had was a name. What I needed was a census office. I found one in Atlanta easily, but my next trouble was how to get information out of the humans—I couldn't count on finding another hormonal boy to assist me. I dawdled outside the door, eavesdropping shamelessly. Two older men discussing whether or not the new President would bring change, a girl humming Inka Dinka Doo under her breath, two older women chatting about someone's fiancé. Hmmm… the men were no good. Then the women's conversion changed: the alto began complaining to the soprano about the cluster of poor boyfriends she'd been having. Perfect. I waited for the conversation to die down, and then came in. One woman was on the phone—the alto. I made a beeline for her. I waited, and when she hung up I leaned slightly forward, fixing an expression of frustrated hurt on my face. Her eyes widened slightly when she caught sight of me.

"Ah, excuse me…" I began, trying to sound bashful.

"Yes?"

I sighed. "I'm hoping I can find an address…"

She raised her eyebrows. "We are not an address book, miss."

"I know, and I'm so sorry—it's my ex-boyfriend. I was hoping… that is," She suddenly looked much more receptive.

I took a deep breath and tried to look embarrassed. That one was harder. "Well… he, he," I took a deep breath, rushing through the sentence just slow enough to ensure she could understand me, "he-left-me-and-I-was-hoping-that-I-could-find-his-address-because" I glanced down at my lap, "Well, um…"

She took pity on me. "Yes, I quite understand." She glanced around quickly before giving me a conspiratorial smile. "When my second-to-last boyfriend left me, I put decomposing fish through his mail slot."

I giggled and fixed an expression of relief on my face. "I was thinking of getting in through a window and turning on all the taps—if it's on the first floor. I never went to his house."

Her eyes widened. "What did he do?"

I sniffed. "Left me for my cousin—he said she was prettier."

"Oh, honey, you're lovely and he's going to regret that!"

I grinned, letting a teensy bit of the predator show through. "Yes. He is."

She nodded. "What's his name, duckie?"

"Stewart Damelton" I didn't want to leave any traces. Carlisle had explained what would happened if one of us let the secret escape. I didn't have the time to be hauled up in front of the Volturi. I'd looked up the name in the phone book. Hopefully it was close enough to John Damerell to accomplish my goal. She got up and trotted over to a filing desk, pulling out a folder. She brought it over to the desk and began to search through it. She finally pulled out a page. Just as I had hoped, three names below Stewart Damelton and clearly visible (to me, anyway) was 'John Damerell. 13 Pierce Avenue, Atlanta' I memorized the address, and then thanked the woman sincerely. This was perfect—I knew where he was, now, and with no one the wiser. Now all I had to do way pay John a little visit—which would send Royce a little message.

* * *

It had taken me some time to find John, even with the address. But that was alright, I was in no hurry. Nearly two weeks had passed since I had paid that so informative visit to the census bureau. I had searched for his house for days, and when I finally found him, he was never alone! He was at work, he was at parties, he was with friends. Obviously, the "show up and kill him" route was not going to work this time. But that was fine by me: I wanted something more lasting. More painful. Ideally, something slow, irrevocable, and excruciating. I was lost, until I saw a sign upon a store front, "Cotton, The Crop Of The South!" Cotton… why did that make me think…

_Mary Ann Cotton_

_She's dead and she's rotten!_

_She lies in her bed_

_With her eyes wide open_

Of course! The skipping rope song! Mary Ann Cotton, female serial killer in the Victorian era… she used arsenic to make off with ten of her children, three different husbands, five stepchildren, her mother, and her lover…Arsenic. Perfect. If administered, it causes agonizing stomach pains, bowel troubles, vomiting, and delirium, and eventually death. But only if you're lucky. However, if administered slowly over the course of a few weeks there are few symptoms. Some stomach pains, some vomiting. But as soon as you halt the measure, the arsenic drops into the bloodstream and kills you. Just as painfully and much more effectively than giving it all at once. Once a significant dose has been administered over a period of time, there is no treatment except to continue taking it. Carlisle had attempted to treat a victim of arsenical poisoning just that winter—I had evidently picked up more than I had realized. The only trouble was how to administer the deadly dose… I stood across the alley from John's kitchen door, lost in thought. I took no note of the young girl arriving with a bakery box in her hands: she came every night to deliver his nightly dessert— peach pie.

**"Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia Peaches…Georgia Peaches …Georgia Peaches…"**

**-Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer, pg. 159**

Peaches. Perfect.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to convince the girl who delivered the pie to let me deliver it—a quick story about a bet and a portrait of President Jackson convinced her that she didn't need to trouble herself anymore. I was less worried about covering my tracks now; and anyway all that the stupid girl would be able to tell anyone was that a beautiful woman had wanted to deliver him some food… sounded more like a seduction than a murder.

Finding the arsenic was also almost eerily simple. I walked into a pharmacy and informed the elderly gentleman behind the counter I had a rodent problem, and would like to purchase some commercial arsenic to lay down. He was so busy staring at my cleavage (artfully displayed for the occasion by a Vionnet) he forgot to ask me to sign the register. He did look at me oddly when I explained I would need ten ounces, but a beaming smile and whispered "quite a lot of rats" drew his gaze straight back down to my neckline. I had a false name ready, though, just in case. One could never be too careful when planning a murder.

Again, it was easy, one I had the arsenic and access to the pie, to cut a tiny slice in the crust and introduce the arsenic. Just a pinch, at first. I loitered outside the house, and at about nine a servant came out running for the doctor. I grinned. Someone was having stomach troubles.

This was paradoxically satisfying and frustrating. It had been nearly three weeks of steadily increasing the dose until it had reached a handful—almost an ounce. Three weeks of listening to his groans from the alleyway every three or four days. It had all gone straight into his fat, waiting there silently. But tonight was it. The culmination of my revenge, the penultimate death before my ultimate triumph. There had been no arsenic tonight. Right now, the arsenic I had given him, ever so slowly and patiently over these weeks, would be streaming into his bloodstream, filling his every pore with poison- with my hatred. I hoped he was suffering horribly. I waited until it grew dark, until the doctor had been called and sent away again, until the servants went home for the night. Then I snuck into the house on silent feet. We were alone. He lay in his bedroom, moaning. A basin on the floor beside the bed stood testament to the fact that whatever little food he had gotten down came right back up. I bent down beside the bed.

"Hello, John." He stared up at me and mumbled something incoherent. "Do you know the story of Nemesis?" He shook his head, then moaned in pain. "Mm... that headache must be pretty nasty... Nemesis is the goddess of divine retribution—does that ring any bells?" I paused for a moment. "The remorseless goddess who visits the damned and exacts her revenge upon them? No?" He sat up slightly and vomited all over the bedcovers. "Well then, let me tell you a little story. Nemesis is the daughter of the goddess of the night, and she visits those who are proud, or selfish," my voice lowered and I leaned in closer to ensure he could still hear me. I could smell his blood, a constant undercurrent pounding in my thirst, aching in my throat. I ignored it: it was good practice. I would need to be much closer to Royce, and for much longer. I could not afford to lose my focus. John was groaning now, obviously in agony. It was wonderful. "or evil. Do you know anyone who fits that description? No? Well... her name means "the righteous anger of the gods", and she is sometimes also called Adrasteia, which means "inescapable", and sometimes she is called Rosalie Lillian Hale, which means "death to those who oppose her will"." He continued to retch, but there was nothing left in his stomach but bile. "And Nemesis in the form of Rosalie visits her victims at night, in honor of her mother, and she kills them slowly and allows them to feel the pain that she felt, and the agony that they deserve to feel." He was starting to shake now, gasping a bit for air. His heart pounded faster and faster, pushed beyond capacity. The convulsions were beginning. The death would come soon. I was disappointed: I was enjoying myself. I was relishing in his pain and his obvious suffering, in every moan and every twitch. His pain for my pain. His loss for my loss. And soon, his death for my death.

And then, all too quickly, it was over. He stilled on the bed, and I could hear that his heart had stopped beating. Done. But I could not leave him here, like this. The symptoms of arsenic poisoning were distressingly easy to locate after death. Luckily, during life they were almost indistinguishable from simple gastric trouble. I would leave no traces behind.

The kitchen was easy to locate, and so were the matches they used to light the kitchen range. The petroleum was slightly more difficult, but I eventually located a good supply in the attached garage. I like a fire on the range, and ripped down the kitchen curtains, trailing them across the stovetop towards the flour barrel in the corner. When heated enough, flour exploded nicely. I went upstairs again and doused the body on the bed liberally with gasoline. Then I spread the flammable substance along the rug on the hallway floor, and over the upholstery in the parlor downstairs—anything that would burn easily. By then, the fire in the kitchen had caught on the curtains and was spreading nicely towards the flour and the wainscoting. I lit the parlor, and it caught wonderfully. Next, I trotted upstairs and made sure the bedroom was merrily ablaze before setting fire to the hallway runner. I dumped all that was left of my petroleum into the spare bedroom and set that alight too. Then I returned to the room where the body was now blazing away. The shifting flames gave it the oddest lively appearance, making it seem as if he still moved. It was a bit unnervingand the stench was vile. I waited until he started to really burn, until his face began to char and blacken, and there was no chance they would be able to recover a hair sample to test for arsenic, and then left, walking easily through what was now an inferno. The neighbors would call the fire department soon, and they would likely put out the fire, in the end. But sadly, poor Mr. John Damerell, who had been sick with stomach troubles for weeks, had been asleep in bed when the fire started—the range had been left on and the curtains had caught, such a shame—and burned. The poor man. Luckily, though, it had been the servant's night off, and so there had only been the one casualty... well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. I grinned as I stalked through the flames and out what was left of the back door onto the alley. Now, all that waited was Royce. And I knew just what I had in mind for him. Next week would be April 27th. The anniversary of my wedding day.

**A/N, RELOADED: **

**Tequila:** Review, review, review, and I will do my happy dance of joy and monkeys and fish and rapture and coconut milk. It is a sight that few have beheld, with the exception of Justin, of course!!

**Justin:** I've seen the happy dance a few too many times, actually.

**Tequila:** you mean you don't like my happy dance?!?! begins to cry

**Justin:** no, of course not, I just meant it pales somewhat after the fourtieth time or so.

**Tequila:** you don't love me anymore!! runs off sobbing

**Justin:** sigh sorry, got to go—**please** review!


	6. Hell Hath No Fury

**Author's Note:**

**Justin:** WHEEEEE!! I see dead people, and pretty butterflies… LET"S GO BUNGEE JUMPING!

**Tequila: **Justin??

**Justin**: or SKYDIVING!! Like NUNS!!

**Tequila**: JUSTIN?? Wait—I remember… if you start acting like me, I'm supposed to do something… umm… glances around room, completely ignoring large sheet of paper taped to the wall saying _"Tequila, if I start acting like you, give me my meds. -Justin"_ wait—I've got it! I'm supposed to—

**Justin**: LOOK! A moose!

**Tequila**: WHERE?!

**Justin**: behind the armoire, of course.

**Tequila**: what armoire? I don't see an armoire! Huh?

**Justin**: POODLES!!

**Disclaimer**: okay, so we don't own Twilight. But we're really nice people anyway… DON'T JUDGE US JUST BECAUSE WE'RE NOT SPECIAL!!

Hell Hath No Fury

I had thirteen days. I could have finished him then and there—but I wanted to make this last. I would be Nemesis, and give him judgment. What could be more fitting than to return to him on the anniversary of our wedding day? I could even—yes!—I could get a dress… most likely not my dress (it had been beautiful, and original Mainbocher creation, fitted especially for me. I was to have worn a real Daché hat, as well) but a wedding gown. The poetic justice of it sent a shiver up my spine. I would get the dress now, in Savannah. I debated briefly on whether it would be worthwhile to try and earn the money to buy the dress, but after a few moments I saw that this would be a waste of my time. I shouldn't have to work. This was, after all, only my due. My justice. I was doing the work of the goddess Nemesis now, here, on earth.

I found a dress shop easily. The gowns in the window were lovely, but I only noticed this absently, preoccupied with logistics. It would be simple enough to just smash the glass in the night, snatch a gown, and run—but that was so ordinary. So crass. So not me. This had to be perfect.

The shop was open. I walked in like someone who had a right to be there, calm and supremely confident. I walked in like the queen I was. The sales clerk was busy, on the telephone with someone. I took the opportunity to give her desk a quick glance—a Miss Moorhaus's wedding dress was mentioned, and it said someone would be by today to pick up the gown. Perfect.

I waited patiently until the salesgirl hung up the telephone and turned to me. "Yes, miss?"

I smiled warmly. "Hello, I am Miss Moorhaus's cousin—I'm here for the wedding, and she asked me to pick up the gown for her; she's a bit busy at the moment." I winked briefly at her.

She laughed. "Of course, Miss…"

"Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie Richards."

"Well, Miss Richards, I can certainly let you have the gown now—and may we all officially wish Miss Moorhaus very happy?"

I nodded and smiled back. "Of course, and I'm sure my dear cousin will appreciate the kind thoughts. Thank you so much."

She gestured for the shop assistant to give me the dress, and once I had it I left quickly, not wanting to risk inquiry—or worse, bump into whoever Miss Moorhaus actually had sent for the dress! That would be very… awkward.

* * *

The dress was perfect—after I'd taken the waist in a bit, and shortened the sleeves and hems ever so slightly (apparently Miss Moorhaus was a big woman) it fit me like a dream. It was the height of fashion, with the waist high but not too high, three-quarter sleeve, and a bias-cut skirt. I, of course, looked like perfection in it. I always did, didn't I? I was ready. I had been waiting, biding my time, until tonight. April 26th1934 Anno Domini. The day before the one year anniversary of what was to have been the most perfect day of my life. My wedding day. My mouth twisted in a smile that had nothing of humor in it. My wedding night.

I only realized when I felt a faint sting of pain that I was making a fist so tight my nails were cutting into my palm. Whoops. I had to stay calm, stay cool. Tonight I was Nemesis, Ate, Adrasteia. I was revenge incarnate and justice stalked by my side.

Royce had been cowering all week—surrounded by guards in the day and behind thick walls all night. The fact that I had been leaving newspaper clippings reporting all the deaths of his friends on his doorstep in the night was likely contributing to his… unease. This was fun.

There were guards—two of them—posted outside his door, armed to the teeth. Pitiful. They were dead in moments, my swift hands on their necks the last thing they would ever feel. Now I was alone with my fiancée. Perfect.

"Royce?" my voice was mellifluous, calm and even. I had won. I could now afford to be magnanimous. I could hear his heartbeat, frantic with terror, and his breathing, harsh with the same emotion. "Royce, I'm hurt. All of this, just to keep me away from my husband-to-be? All these guards, and locks for little old me? Your sweet, innocent, fiancée…" His heart sped up, his leg twitched. I could hear the faint scratch of his skin against the cloth of his trousers; smell the fear-sweat oozing out of his pores, the blood pounding through his veins. I had been careful, bringing down a moose before coming here, and still the scent of his blood brought the venom up into my throat, made the aching pulse of thirst beat stronger. I was glad I'd saved Royce for last: I'd gained practice in restraint.

"Royce, don't you remember the vow? 'To love and to cherish till death do us part' Royce." I walked forward, reveling in his fear. "I'm ready for our wedding, Royce. I'm ready for death to part us," I lost control at the end, a hint of a snarl entering my voice. I continued onwards, and I could almost taste his terror in the back of my throat. As well as some other things. This was well worth the wait.

I found him quickly. Finally, it was just the two of us, face to face. Two people, neither of us human—two different kinds of monsters. "Hello, Royce."

All he did was whimper. I reached out and casually and, as a regular human girl might a toothpick, broke his wrist. He moaned a bit in pain, and I laughed out loud. This was wonderful. I spent a bit of time there, individually snapping each tiny bone in his hand (my goodness, I really had been paying more attention to Carlisle's chatting than I had realized) and making my way slowly up his arm. Ever time he screamed in agony, every time his face contorted in anguish, I felt a tiny shiver of satisfaction. I deserved this. This was my final reparation, my revenge from the world. The goddess Nemesis herself stood by me that night.

When I was done with his arms, I moved on to his legs, paying special attention to his feet. By then he had mostly stopped screaming, merely panting at the pain. I asked him, every so often, whether it had been fun, what he did to me. Whether that was what he got his pleasure out of, watching helpless young women suffer. Now I was far from helpless. And it felt so good.

I took my time. This wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to rush, you understand. I needed to savor it, to relish in every tiny moment of my vengeance. Of my retribution. Of my triumph.

He died, finally. Beside his mangled body, I placed the engagement ring that had shone so brightly on my perfect hand. I had been very careful, shattering bones but never enough to break the skin, bruising him without causing him to bleed. It had made it so much easier for me to resist his blood. I wanted no part of him inside me, ever again. Not in my body and not in my heart and not in my mind and not in my soul. I would not think or speak or write or hear of him. My last revenge would be to forget him entirely.

When I walked out of there into the street, the sun was shining brightly. I laughed in sheer joy. It was the dawn of my wedding day. I was Nemesis, absolved. My vengeance was complete. I was done.

And now I wanted to see Henry.

I wasted a moment or two in stripping off 'my' wedding gown and replacing it with my own clothing—a darling little Schiaparelli confection. Then I was off, to Champlain Street. To Henry. I realized, with a jolt, that he would be nearly one and a half now. He would be talking—standing.I felt a pang of regret that I had missed all of that—missed his first word, his first step, his first birthday. That all belonged to Vera. How I hated her at that moment, for having what I could never have. It was a sunny day, and though still early, it was not inconceivable that people could be out and about. I slunk into the shadows, unwilling to risk exposure at this, the most critical of junctures. I was so carefully avoiding the road that I nearly missed seeing Vera herself coming down the street. She was dressed in full mourning, and I wondered absently which of her relations had died. She had a brother or two, I faintly recalled, and some distant cousins. Merely out of curiosity, I followed her. Why was she leaving Henry? Her steps led to the cemetery, which I'd already half suspected was her destination. She carried a small bouquet of narcissus. How appropriate, I thought—Narcissus was one of the victims of Nemesis, changed into a flower for his egotism. When we reached the cemetery, she walked over to one of the smaller plots in a far corner. How cheap. The Hales had always been buried right near the church—and we always had the nicest headstones. My uncle even had a marble statue erected. The grave Vera was weeping over at the moment was simple, a flat headstone with more flowers at the base. She deserved to be sad, she had what I wanted. What I craved. Let her weep—I cannot.

After leaving the flowers and weeping a bit more, she left. Out of curiosity, again, I wandered over, after checking that the graveyard was deserted, and peered at the name.

Henry William Michelson

Born: 1933 Died 1934

The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away

Rest In Peace

Were they joking? I examined the tombstone again. And again. And again. The clues all fit. The missing scent, the empty room, the dust… It all fit. Too well. Like the pieces of some morbid puzzle that fit too perfectly to be true. It all made sense. It all worked.

I sank to my knees. Why? What had I done, what could I possibly have done to deserve this? First Royce… now Henry. I could not even wail my grief to the heavens, where Henry was. Where he shouldn't have to be. Oh, God. This was punishment for more crimes than anyone could have ever committed. Nemesis. Was I, too, being judged and punished? But for what? What possible offense… I wanted to cry, to scream, to rail at fate, to smash into dust whoever was responsible. But there was no one to blame. Nothing to do. I was helpless again, powerless and miserable and broken.

I couldn't stay here for one more instant. I could never come back again. This was the site of my destruction twice over. They say pride goeth before a fall. I had fallen so hard and so fast I wondered if I could still stand.

I stumbled to my feet, blindly, running furiously away from everything. I ran and ran and ran, only slowing enough to ensure I was unobserved. I did not check my wild flight until I was back at my only haven. I was in the house and up that stairs before Edward even knew I was there. Now, finally out of reach of prying ears, I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed, as if I could drive away my fear and sorrow with sheer volume. But even my howls of grief could not block out Edward and Esme's whispered, hurried conversation as he told her what he had gleaned from my mind. In a flash, she was beside me, holding me close and stroking my hair. I sank into her comforting embrace.

But no matter what she did, it would never help. My heart had been broken past all healing. There was no meaning to anything, anymore. There never would be again. I was in mourning. From now till forever.

And for me, forever was more than just an eternity.

**A/N Part II, _now with chewy nougat center!!_**

**Justin**: coconut milk just isn't.

**Tequila**: isn't what?? Justin, this is no fun… it's fun when I do it… but not when I don't have you there to sigh at me, and tell me I'm a trial, and remember where I leave things, and stand up for me, and… JUSTIN!! COME BACK FROM YOUR MIND!! I DON'T WANT TO BE THE GROWN-UP!!

**Justin**: elastic hummingbirds. SO THERE!!

**Tequila**: --sigh-- WAIT!! I'm not supposed to be sighing; you're supposed to be sighing… THIS IS ALL WRONG!!


	7. A Long Shot

Author's Note:

**Author's Note:**

**Justin:** umm… sorry about that, everyone…

**Tequila:** that was a very TRAUMATIZING day!!

**Justin:** luckily, our friend Anita Mann (shout out to Anita… alternatively known as crème brûlée … to olganauts) was on hand to help out with a few things

**Tequila:** she slapped Justin! It was soooo funny!!

**Justin:** shush, Tequila! and now we're on to: CHAPTER SEVEN!

**Tequila:** where we meet EMMETT:D --drools just a bit-- and finally get to write some fluff!! It's so much more fun…

**Justin:** yeah, all the anger was getting a bit emotionally draining; I left most of it up to Tequila, actually!

**Tequila:** you'd be surprised at the hidden wells of wrath, horror, and sadism I can pull up from the dark netherhells of my soul:D there's no need to be frightened, though… --scary music-- I promise I'm fully under control… ish…

**Disclaimer:** We own… um… bleep all, actually… drat…

**A Long Shot **

I drifted, for a time. Things mattered little to me. It was an interesting spring, that of 1934, what with the Dust Bowl storms, and the earthquake in Alaska. Apparently the Cullens knew someone there. I wasn't interested. The summer was supposedly interesting too: Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, which meant Carlisle went to and from the hospital with a frown. I wasn't interested. The fall wasn't bad either—Gloria Vanderbilt's trial was in full swing, and there was scandal in every paper. I wasn't interested. It was winter before I really woke up. Esme had been kind, and worried. Edward was caustic, which was irritating, but pulled me out of my fog faster than Esme's compassion. She meant well, I suppose. She was annoying.

Everything was.

It was still cold, now, in late March. We had moved to Michigan, just recently. A large house on the shores of Lake Margrethe, near Stewart Hill. It was mostly empty territory, around there. The nearest town was Rasmus, about a mile as the crow flew, but a good three and a half miles by road. I liked it. There were some interesting cars a nice quick run away, and it was quiet, here in the backwoods of Michigan. I could breathe. Not that I needed to. I spent most of my time in my room, brooding, or out in the woods, hunting. It was something to do, something to pass the time.

They wouldn't leave me alone—it seemed that Esme was always 'popping in to check on me' or sending a disgruntled Edward on the same errand. Hunting was my only time alone. Carlisle was surprisingly empathetic, refusing to be cajoled into 'cheering me up' for which I thanked him. He insisted on 'giving me some time'.He wasn't so bad, really. But I was going to suffocate (not that I could) if I didn't get some time alone, so I convinced Esme that I was fine, and that a little private hunting trip would do me good. It was a bit chilly—March was going out like a lion, this year, they said.

**EMPOV **

It was a beautiful day, and I intended to enjoy it. Cold, but not too cold. Brisk, you know? I wanted to be out of the house—my oldest sister, Elaine, was getting married, and BOY was mom kicking up a fuss! So I grabbed my gun and went out into the woods. I wasn't intending to really do any serious hunting, I wouldn't, not without my brothers, but if I saw a squirrel, or a possum or two, I certainly wouldn't hesitate. We could always use the food. It was great out; not cold enough to really need a jacket (which was good, because I thought that Elwood was wearing it) and it didn't look like rain. Which was also good, because if Ma or Edie (youngest sister, helping with the plans) suspected that it was planning to rain on their wedding practice thing, they'd go ballistic. I felt sorry for Everett, who was stuck at home with a bad chest cough, and thus subject to the women-folk's whiles. They could be vicious, those McCarty women. Ernest and Pa had escaped the day before yesterday, visiting cousins over in Hatchertown. Cowards, the both of them. I headed out to Cold Spring Knob, just eight miles away from our home in Gatlinburg. Today would be a good day, I could feel it.

**RPOV**

I stopped, rising to my full height from my feral crouch. I had been about to bring down a good sized grizzly bear—they were coming out of hibernation and their reflexes would be slower**. **But then a loud shout had echoed through the trees, only barely budding. It didn't stop, either, just went on and on and on**.** What was that noise?! I was hunting, I finallyhad time to myself and I was enjoying my little day-trip to the Appalachians. How dare some raucous party of idiots come out to where I was hunting and get drunk and yell? I glared impotently at the innocent birch tree in front of my lovely face. The yelling continued. I tried to block it out. Suddenly, though, it changed to screaming. This sounded like pain. Had something gone wrong? Was someone hurt—a woman? The screams sounded male, but… if anyone was suffering the way I—I turned and ran in the sound of the howls, growing weaker now. Those bastards. I burst into a clearing: and stopped dead. It was not what I had expected. A man was lying on the ground, screaming in agony. A grizzly bear stood over him, paws bloodied, more blood streaming from a gunshot wound in its shoulder. I glanced back at the man. Yep. A shotgun lay next to his arm, which was bleeding furiously, as was his chest. Stupid. A hunter, trying to take on a grizzly in the spring, when they were just coming out of hibernation and irritable? The fool deserved his fate. And anyway, it wasn't as if there was anything I could do about it. He was dying, if he wasn't already—a scream that was more of a gurgle escaped from his ruined throat. I looked up. He was looking straight at me.

His eyes. Dimples, curls, oh god.

Time stopped. It was Henry.

But it couldn't be: Henry was dead. Poliomyelitis had taken him from me. Henry was dead. So was this man—no. I wouldn't loose him twice. I couldn't. I didn't deserve that! It wasn't fair! I rounded on the grizzly and bared my teeth. It would pay.

When I had finished ripping that _animal_ into pieces, I turned back to the young man. Oh, god, his eyes. It was as if they could reach out and snatch your very soul, just by you looking at them. He was bleeding even more fiercely now. The smell… but no. I would not kill this man, I couldn't. It would kill me, I just knew it. To lose Henry again. But still… there was only one choice. He would die: I couldn't get him to help, it was far too late for that. So the only other option was the one I had vowed never to inflict on anyone else ever again—to doom him. To change him. But could I? I was stuck with doubt—so utterly foreign to me. Could I do it? Could I change him? The thought of him dying, of his smile and his hair and his eyes gone forever, hit me like a physical blow. That he might die by my… teeth… was even more painful. I couldn't risk losing him again—I shouldn't have to. I didn't deserve to. I cast about for a third option, and naturally it didn't take long before a thought struck me, blinding in its brilliance.

Carlisle.

He had changed me, he could change this man. But Carlisle was miles from here, and by the time he came, it might be too late. Easier, faster by far to bring the man to Carlisle. I would have to carry him. I was sure I could do it, but… the blood. I was no doctor, but it looked like the grizzly had punctured one of his lungs. Well, I just wouldn't breathe. It would work. It had to. It wouldn't dare not to.

I raced for my life. Only it wasn't my life. I glanced down at the man, now trying to mumble something through the ruin that the damn grizzly had made of his larynx. I wanted to murmur to him that everything would be fine—I was here—as if he was the infant he resembled so hauntingly. But I didn't dare open my mouth, not with is blood still bubbling out of his throat with each labored breath he heaved into his lungs. I wasn't even racing for his life. That was over—but it could give him (and myself) a second chance. I ran. We were all fast, but Edward was fastest, I knew. I was not timed on that run. There were no witnesses (even in my panic, I was careful. I always am). But I will swear to this day that I ran faster than any other vampire ever has that afternoon. I do know that the sun was still a good finger above the horizon—likely an hour before sunset. When I arrived at home, Carlisle was just finishing up his shift at the hospital: so it was around half past nine, post meridian. I'd put sunset in April at around twenty past seven, so it took me just under three hours to travel 706 miles. That comes out to 256 miles per hour. That's fast. Also consider my trip down at a reasonable pace took four and one half hours.

Carlisle was, to put it mildly, a bit surprised when I ran into the house, carrying a bleeding wreck of a man cradled in my arms. He looked even more surprised when the first words I blurted out were "Save him. Now."

He took one look at the man, his gasps how quieter, weaker, "Rosalie… there's nothing—"

"Save him. I don't care how." Carlisle's eyes widened. He reached out and picked the man out of my arms, I resisted. "I've got him. But you have to hurry."

"Rosalie, do you seriously mean—"

"Yes. Anything. Now, before it's…" I choked on the words, "Just do it."

Carlisle stared deep into my eyes, and his were unfathomable pools of gold. Edward stepped silently into the room, and raised an eyebrow, presumably at my thoughts. For the first time, I didn't care if he was reading every damn thought that went through my head. I needed this man. I needed him, if not alive, as close as I could get. I didn't know how, or why, but this was a gift from the God that seemed to have forsaken me.

Carlisle nodded, once. "Set him down." I did, feeling oddly reluctant. But the man's heartbeat was slowing, his breath was harsh and I was… terrified. This would not be out of my control. Nothing would, never again. Carlisle heaved a sigh full of regrets, then bent down and touched his lips and the deadly teeth behind them to the man's throat. Esme and Edward left the room; I stayed, feeling a pull I couldn't deny. I had been holding my breath for nearly fifteen-thousand-six-hundred seconds; I could hold it for a few more. It wasn't as if I really needed to breathe, anyway. Not anymore.

**EMPOV**

Everything had been fine—I'd bagged two squirrels and a possum—and then suddenly there was a bear right in front of me and there was my gun and it was pure muscle reflex that raised the barrel, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I could see as the bullet flew that it wasn't going to do any good. Sure enough, it hit the grizzly in the shoulder. I was done for. I spared a brief thought for Elaine. This would really mess up her wedding. Shit, shit, shit. What kind of a little brother was I? And then there was no more time for thoughts, no more time for anything other than pain as the bear gave a viscous swipe at my chest. I felt my neck open up, felt the blood come out. Things started to waver, to turn back. I was distantly aware of screaming, and I only absently noted that it was me. As things began to fade, there was another growl, harsher. Great. Another bear, come to fight over me… I glanced up with the last of my vision.

And I couldn't believe what I saw.

There was an angel standing there, right there in the middle of the woods in West Virginia. She was radiant. Her hair was gold, she was tall, and slim, and stood there looking down at me with an expression of sorrow. Where were her wings? She bent down and the pain intensified for a moment, then steadied off again. It was hard to breathe now.

I was flying. Was this the angel that took me to heaven? She was as beautiful as the sun itself, and I could feel myself slipping away. But if I was dead, wouldn't everything have stopped hurting? Because I could still feel where the bear had swiped at me; it still hurt, a lot, and I could feel the wind whizzing by me. We _were_ flying.

Then, after a time I could not have told you how long, it felt like forever, there was jolting, and another face. A male face, this time, wise and compassionate. God. So God was blonde. Fascinating. I must remember to tell Everett. But I couldn't. Because I was dead. Shit. God bent down.

It. Hurt. Everything hurt like there was a fire moving through me. It was worse than the time boiling coffee had spilled all over my arm, and that had been bad enough. Fire everywhere. Hell. I wasn't too surprised. I was dead and in Hell, but there was an angel there, and as long as she was there I could stand anything. Why was the angel there? Was God truly so merciful? It hurt so much, all over, all the time. But she was there and I could see her. And as long as I could see her, I would be alright. She was my Guardian Angel.

**RPOV**

I paced. Back and forth in my room, listening to his screams, staring at him as he writhed on the bed. How could I be so selfish? No, wait—I wasn't being selfish. I deserved this._ But did he?_ I silenced the little voice in the back of my mind. I deserved this. The world owed me this. If I chose to take this man, it was only reparations, wasn't it? The world has stolen my life. I would steal his. But still… his screams. So much like mine must have been. I could no longer bear it. I flitted to his side, and picked up his hand. Amazingly, he stopped. He still gasped with the pain, big, deep, brutal rasps that spoke eloquently of the agony that was ripping through his frame. I remembered it. His eyes snapped open. They were beautiful—molten pools of darkness that physically hurt to look at. I smiled tentatively. His mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. It brought out his dimples. Oh, Lord.

"I thought… angels… weren't allowed… in Hell?" he panted.

I blinked. Hell? Well… we were damned, but not yet. "I'm no angel." How far from the truth…I flinched as I recalled Royce's voice—so sweet then, and so foul-seeming now—calling me his 'perfect angel.' I'd liked it then. Now I wanted no reminders of him. "And this isn't Hell."

"Then… why?" I understood what he meant. The pain… no wonder he thought he was in Hell… but what could he have done to be so sure he deserved damnation? Then again, all men were scum, so…

A knock sounded at the door. Carlisle. "Come in," I called over my shoulder. He walked through the door, followed closely by Edward, and I marveled at the lack of bitterness I suddenly felt toward him. Even if he had ruined my life (and, since I was always scrupulously fair, it really hadn't been his fault) he had given me—I blinked again when I realized I didn't even know the man's name.

Edward grinned, no doubt hearing my confusion. "A bit precipitate, aren't we?" I scowled at him. _Since I know you know and you know I'll get it out of you eventually, save us both the effort and just tell me, alright?_ He laughed. "His name is Emmett. Emmett McCarty. And since I seem to be _de trop_, I'll go sit with Esme."

Emmett… it was a nice name. Not as nice as mine, of course, but one can't have everything. I picked up… Emmett's… hand, and held within my own, gently. He didn't need any more pain, not from me.

It seemed like years, those 273,000 seconds until the change was over. Until he was finally, fully, and irrevocably one of us. One of the damned. A vampire. But eventually I heard his heart stop. It was done. I walked over slowly, dreading what I might see in his eyes. He would hate me, I knew it. I wasn't sure whether or not I hated me. I bent down, and just then his eyes fluttered open. They were red, deep and bloody and terrible, but I felt like I could fall into them and never ever come out.

And suddenly, nothing would ever be the same again.

**A/N, **_**now available at half of the price with this special T.V. offer!!**_

**Justin:** aww… aren't they sweet?

**Tequila:** sweet!? Did you say SWEET?!

**Justin:** why yes I did… why? Should I be worried??

**Tequila:** no, just wondered:D

**Justin:** okay… um… just like to say sorry this has been so slow, we've been a bit caught up in our new story, Stuff Happens, but we would like to thank all the people who review, and hopefully shame some people who don't into reviewing!! :D Some people have been really wonderful, shout out (well, not really shouting… but you get the idea! And type-out doesn't sound fancy…) to Jazlynn, 13figureskater-Draco'sgirl, xo-annaelizabeth-xo, and SMARTALIENQT for just being wonderful people and shiz…

**Tequila:** T-T-That's All Folks!


	8. Déjà Vu All Over Again

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Justin:** OH. MY. CARLISLE. ROBERT PATTINSON ACCEPTED MY PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE!!

**Tequila:** ummm… Justin, but didn't he accept everyone's proposals? And I don't really think he was serious, I think—

**Justin:** don't ruin my dream bubble!!

**Tequila:** ooookaaay…

**Justin:** it's on TV. He can't take it back. He said he'd marry me… YAY!!

**Tequila:** umm… alright… on with the chapter!

**Disclaimer:** well, our birthdays are coming up, and maybe if we ask really nicely someone will give us the rights to Twilight? But till then, no dice:(

Déjà Vu All Over Again

No. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

He shouldn't look like this, he shouldn't be like this.

All of it had been a mistake.

It only took a split second, and then everything in the room changed. Everything in the world changed. The man… Emmett… was still looking at me, trapping my eyes. I couldn't look away. The force in them was… compelling. And enthralling. And fascinating. And captivating. I forgot everything looking into those eyes. I even forgot my name. All I saw was scarlet.

He spared me with a blink. In that split second of reprieve I did the only thing I could do. I ran. I left him behind me, groaning, and I ran for all I was worth.

An angel, he had called me. He didn't know how wrong he was.

I did.

I ran with a speed that would have rivaled Edward. I hardly paid attention to where my feet led me, my mind had other matters to deal with.

Emmett… Henry…. Vera… Royce. I hissed out loud as that vile name came to mind. He too had called me his angel. And in a way I was. I was forever his angel of victory, of vengeance, of death. I had left my mark on his life by ending it, and I would always cherish the memory of his anguish. Gone, but not forgotten.

And Henry… Henry had left me. Forever. He was gone. My teeth clenched with a snap. Vera couldn't take care of him. Neither could the lousy excuse she called a husband. If it were me… I would have made sure no harm had come to him. I would have protected him, I would have saved him.

_Just like you saved Emmett?_

My thoughts turned to this new discovery, and I instantly became enwrapped in insecurity… something I wasn't used to. I didn't know whether he was going to stay, or not, if he would follow our 'diet', if he even cared. It pained me to admit it, but I was scared. I didn't know if he would hate me after all this. But he couldn't hate me- could he? I was beauty in itself. I was perfection. _Nobody_ hated me. They were jealous of me, yes. But they secretly all wanted me. They wanted me, and my beauty, and my approval. Even Emmett. He would want me too. I would make sure of it. I had come too far to lose him now, to lose Henry…again…

I deserved him. And I knew I did. I was Rosalie Lillian Hale. After all that _he_ had done to me… was this so much to ask?

_Was another human life worth more than I was?_

* * *

When I came back far later in the day, I had calmed down a little. From a long ways away, I heard a deep, melodic voice coming through the trees. It had guided me home, and kept me company through the trek back. It was beautiful, surprising, enthralling. Was everything about his man going to enchant me? That wasn't fair—that wasn't right. I was the enchanter, not the enchantée, not the one who was supposed to be swept away by a siren sound of a voice. That voice was speaking now.

"…And there's also my step-brother, Ethan, and his half-brother, Edmund, I've got a _ton_ of siblings. Especially siblings through marriage, and don't even get me started on cousins! Let's see…. There's Emily, Ellie, Emma, Edgar, Earnest, Elystan, Evan, Easnadh, her kids Edison, Edith, Edna, and Emanuel, his sister-in-law Esparanza, and Elatha, Eibhliu, Eleanor, her uncles Euron, Eli, and Eliot. Then there's my cousins Eiluned, Eliza, Eibhear, and Engelbert, their great uncle Estovare and all of his grandkids: Emlyn, Eamon, Elspeth, Effie, Ethelred, and Elizabeth, all of this on my sister Elaine's side. And on my father's side, I have Ellen, Elske, Elton, Eirlys, her father, Evin, his cousin Eric, Eoghan, Earnest, Elihu, his aunts Erica and Ealadha, Erwin, Ester, her daughter, Elinor, Eugene, and his brother Egbert, and then there's Emyr, Evangeline, Ewan, Erin, her twin sister Evelyn, their cousins Ethine, Erasmus, Emer, and Ezekeil... another Edgar, his daughters Eira, and Elsa. Oh! And I also have a cousin… Joe."

There was a groan, and I could practically imagine poor Carlisle trying to keep track.

"Well, Carlisle" came Edward's wry drawl "She couldn't have picked anyone else, could she?"

"Damn right I couldn't." I said, timing my entrance so I came in dramatically as Edward finished speaking. I wasn't quite so aware of what we were arguing about, I was merely doing this for the sake of arguing. However, at the sound of my voice, Emmett's eyes snapped to me and he turned. I made the mistake of looking into the liquid pools of concealed fire, and once again I was trapped. I was literally speechless. I didn't know what to say.

This time he didn't look away, or even blink. He continued staring at me, making me feel like I was the only thing that mattered. That I was the only thing in the world. It made me feel whole. It was as if I belonged, as if I were an old, deeply missed friend. At the same time, it was as if I was being born all over again. His eyes searched deeply into mine, and I stared right back. All thoughts of the others had left my mind (all thoughts of anything, really) until Carlisle shifted slightly.

I started, surprised to find other people in the room with us. Carlisle was expressionless, but there was a bright gleam to his eyes. Edward had a cocky smile on his face, one that I itched to rub off. I just noticed Esme, who was looking at the two of us with an expression of wonder and complete acceptance. I immediately got on the defensive.

"What are you staring at?" I tried to snap at him, but my perfect voice failed me, and it sounded more like a request. As long as those crimson eyes held my own, I was powerless.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He breathed in reply, blinking. His long eyelashes moved smoothly, and those dimples twinkled into being again, making him look even more like a babe in arms, and those adorably messy curls didn't help …

"Thing?" I demanded, glaring at him. I wasn't a thing! Thing sounded worse than monster….

"Sorry, angel, I didn't mean to offend" he replied with a bright smile. His dark eyes lit up and dimples showed again on his face. He was so beautiful when he smiled… "I just get a little flustered when you're around."

"Oh." Came my brilliant reply, and for once I was thankful that my blood wasn't flowing. If it had been, it would have been rushing at full speed to my cheeks, and it would be unseemly. Searching my brain for any remainders of my dignity, I added "Well you shouldn't," and I turned to go.

"Thanks." He said before I left, but I didn't turn back. I made my way to the garage where I could find a place to clear my head. His parting words stayed with me and warmed my dead heart as I left him. "Thanks for saving me."

It seemed he had understood what I had been trying to achieve. It seemed like he understood _me_. He wasn't mad at me for damning him to eternal life, he was thankful! And I would never forget the way he looked when he smiled. He had called me his angel… and suddenly, it didn't seem like such a bad thing.

I smiled for the first time in what felt like decades as I began to work on my car, my thoughts circling around Emmett. Emmett would need a car soon, when he was used to the humans. It would have to be strong enough and fast enough for him. He deserved it. It was tough to be one of us. One of the damned, one of the family.

* * *

That night, the roses came again for the first time since my life ended and then began all over again.

The rose was blood red, and in full bloom. Attached to it was a short poem in small, concise handwriting:

__

_Roses Are Red_

_Here's my observation-_

_It's that you'll always be_

_My one salvation_

It was the sweetest thing I had ever received… and I hated it. I couldn't take it. Royce had sent me flowers, and violets. Royce had promised me his love, his hand in marriage… Royce had promised me everything. And he had destroyed me. With a cruel action he had taken it all back, and now I could never be what I desired. I could never have what I wanted, what I deserved. All my dreams were crushed, and to have this reminder of all that was just too harsh.

I shredded all the petals off the rose, and I ripped the poem into infinitesimal scraps. I crushed the stem, the thorns, every last piece, until I was left with nothing but dust.

It was extreme, I know. But I couldn't handle anymore empty words, or anymore lies. And I knew it was only that, for that was the only thing that dwelled on in the world of men. Lies, and lust, and dreams of power. That was all. There really wasn't anything out there—all just dreams and fantasies, the lies that men told women and the ones that women told themselves. And you could choose, in life—to be the sheep, or to be the wolf. I was never going to be helpless again. I was never going to delude myself again. I was never going to be wrong, never going to be hurt, never going to raise my expectations so they could never be dashed down. I would be an ice queen, impervious to pain.

And since I couldn't sleep, I ran. I ran once more into the woods, the sanctuary I had been using far too often recently.As I made my escape I could just hear the soft sigh of disappointment, but I couldn't turn back. Not now. I couldn't face everything. Not again. I wasn't… strong. Not enough for it to really make a difference. It had been the same that night too. I wasn't able to fight back. All I was able to too was lay there and take what they gave me.

It wouldn't be that way again. I vowed that I would never be helpless like that again. Men weren't able to be trusted, especially men who sought for you. Emmett was no different. They were all after the same thing, and he was one of them. I had been foolish enough to be betrayed once, but I was not so foolish as to make the same mistake twice. I had learned, through my experienced I had learned. You could trust nobody with your heart. Nobody and no one. Besides, they didn't deserve it anyway. They didn't deserve my heart, even if it was cold, dead, and broken. No one deserved its precious remains. They were mine to keep, and I would never give them away.

**A/N, the haunted note… that never leaves… whoo…:**

**Tequila:** okay, just to explain:

**Justin:** it wouldn't be a very interesting story if they just fell into each other's arms and lived happily ever after, would it?

**Tequila:** plus, as a woman recovering from abuse, it's going to take Rose a long time to trust anyone with her body, or her heart…

**Justin:** and we just love the dramatic tension:D

**Justin & Tequila:** REVIEW, PLEASE!!


	9. Messy Revelations

**Author's Note:**

**Tequila:** we sorry!!

**Justin**: Tequila, honey, we _are _sorry. Not we sorry. Though yes, we are sorry.

**Tequila:** That too!

**Justin:** what with my trip to England, and school starting up again—

**Tequila:** GGGAHHHH:(

**Justin:** we have gotten inexcusably behind….

**Tequila**: we are slugs!! We sorry!!

**Justin:** we promise we will be faster in the future.

**Disclaimer****:** mebbeh now that Breaking Dawn is out, Stephenie Meyer will get bored with the whole thing and give it to us?? Well, we can dream, right…

Messy Revelations

**RPOV**

I was in such trouble. Such deep, deep trouble.

Emmett had been out, hunting with Esme… and apparently things had gone less than well. They had come to close to some stupid hiker (honestly. Who hikes in Michigan?!) and Emmett had taken a snap at him—Carlisle and Esme together had barely been enough to hold him back. He seemed sorry though, sorry to a point. His essential attitude towards hunting—his essential attitude towards everything, truth be told—was that if I thought it was the right thing to do, he would go along with it. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about anything, really. I hadn't spoken to him—not much. The rose incident was not mentioned. He had said nothing… I had said nothing… nothing remained to be said.

Esme and Carlisle had taken him out to hunt today. Edward had remained in the house with me. He had (evidencing tact for the first time since I'd known him) removed himself to his own room, and I could distinctly hear the faint sounds of the piano drifting towards me. He wasn't at all bad. I'd never known anyone who really played a musical instrument. Neither of my brothers—I ignored the pang of pain that accompanied the memory—had been interested in music. I had sung, for a time, but only socially.

I wandered downstairs and sat, motionless, in the living room for a long time. The shadows on the walls lengthened.

Why? Why anything… why had I made this choice, this stupid, reckless, brilliant choice to save Emmett's life and doom his immortality? I rarely doubt myself—there is rarely anything to doubt—but that afternoon I spent, sitting in the parlor in our remote Michigan home, is one of the few times I have felt compelled to search my soul—what there is of it. As darkness fell, I resolved to go outside. Lake Margrethe was beautiful at all times, but twilight had to be her loveliest period. The stars reflected on the still water, and the trees shifted with faint breezes. The scents, the sounds, and the feelings were soothing. Restful. One felt timeless, sitting by the shores of the lake, hidden from the world by the trees. I snorted quietly to myself. I _was _timeless, and there was nothing I could do about it.

True night had fallen when I heard someone behind me. I became stone. He said nothing, just sat by my side and stared out into the darkness. Minutes passed.

When I could stand it no longer, I turned and looked at him, and all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. Well, that was ridiculous. I didn't need to breathe… but it was the same breathless sensation… the same ache I remembered. He grinned, and it hit me like a physical blow. "Hey." I didn't know what to say. That was ridiculous—whatever I said would be perfect.

"Hello." Nice. Hello. How idiotic and juvenile…

"Did you get the roses?"

I blinked. "Yes."

"Good."

"Oh." Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I hated roses. Not when he'd obviously… "Thank you. Not that… never mind."

"What is it?"

I smiled tightly. I shouldn't inflict my pointless pain on him. "Nothing you would be interested in."

"But if it's about you, everything interests me." His eyes… it was as if they could see into my soul. If I still had a soul. But he looked like he could find one.

I shrugged. "Really, nothing."

He looked sad, suddenly. And seeing him looking sad sent a little pang of pain straight into my dead heart.

"Someone… else. Brought me roses. At one point." He merely waited. "Someone I'd rather not remember. Someone associated with… bad memories."

He nodded slowly. "Well, then." He smiled again, and I was lost. "I'll just have to create some new memories, won't I?

--

He certainly tried. Every night, I found a rose, and a poem.

They weren't very good poetry.

But the thought was there.

I hated the thought. And the roses.

But somehow, I never told him to stop. And the flowers kept on coming.

It was nice… to be noticed again.

--

Esme wanted to go shopping. _Shopping._ Of all the moronic, human… she asked me to come with her. To spend some time together, she said. To get me out of the house. I knew. But I went anyway. There was something about Esme that made you shy away from disappointing her too badly. Not that I cared. Usually. But I didn't much mind getting out of the house, because getting out of the house meant leaving Emmett behind. He was, for the time being, on a sort of house-arrest, confined to areas without a high human population because of the… difficulties… he had been having with restraint. I sympathized—restraint had never been enjoyable for me, either. But then, I shouldn't have to restrain myself.

I glanced in a mirror for a quick check (I looked stunning, as always) before trotting downstairs and outside to where Esme was waiting in my Eagle. She was letting me drive. Thank God.

The Depression was still on, but it really hadn't affected us: when you combined a lack of food or heating budgets with the fact we only needed gas-lights when anyone was nearby, the value of long-term investments, and the steady stream of income Carlisle received, we had more than enough money. But the blasted Depression meant that we had to drive all the way to Lansing to find decent clothing. It wasn't that people weren't buying… but they mostly lived in the big cities. I spent the day bored out of my mind, sneering at the pointless little mayflies flitting around us (how dare they, how dare they, every time I saw a mother with a child I could have wept…. Henry) and ignoring the urge to leap upon them and drink their blood. It wasn't difficult. _I_ had some modicum of self control.

When we returned, it was gathering dark outside and similar conditions indoors—not that it hampered any of our ability to see. Edward and Emmett were sitting in the dining room, chatting about something, and Carlisle was at the hospital. I slipped past them and went upstairs to my room.

**EMPOV**

This was so totally captivating. I could move crazy fast, and I accidentally knocked over a tree earlier when I leaned against it, and _man_, did I look good. I mean, not that I had been any kind of ugly before, but I was _handsome_ now, a rival for Clark Gable himself, if you asked me. The whole, really _really _wanting to drink people's blood thing was kind of weird, but I could deal. And the angel was there, although she was a bit frosty. Edward (who seemed like a good guy, real smart, real up on everything) had mentioned that her story wasn't exactly happy, and when she added that line about someone associated with 'bad memories' bringing her flowers, and she got that look in her eyes (which were damn lovely, golden and endless) that I hoped to high Heaven would never be directed at me, it wasn't that hard to put together. Some men were bastards. I still wasn't really used to the fact that Edward could _read minds_—which was seriously freaky, if you ask me—and so when he turned to me after a vague thought of hunting down the sons of bitches that had hurt Rosalie (God, that was a gorgeous name) and muttered that it would be quite unnecessary, what came out of my mouth was, "Whaa…"

"Hunting down those 'sons of bitches,' and the term is aptly used, I assure you, is unnecessary. Rosalie… took care of the situation. Herself."

Whoa. Note to self, don't mess with the angel. That's actually really… interesting. I wasn't used to women who could take care of themselves. I mean, none of my sisters (and I steadfastly ignored the little pang of pain at the thought of them) were wilting lilies, or anything, but the men folk took care of any real trouble. Not a bad interesting… just interesting. I absently sat back in the chair and—came crashing down on my ass. I had broken the chair. Greeeeat. Real smooth, McCarty. But still… kind of funny…

**RPOV**

I was up in my room, tuning out the sound of conversation below (I did _not_ want to know what they were talking about, I did _not_) when there came a crash. Without thinking, I raced down there.

Emmett was sitting, on the floor, in the rubble of what seemed to be an ex-chair, laughing his head off. Edward was still seated normally, chuckling softly. He glanced up when I entered the room.

"Emmett, ah, forgot about his new capabilities, and… overtaxed… the chair."

He was still laughing. I snorted, turned on my heel, and went back up to my bedroom. Men.

--

Emmett had adjusted well, fitting in nicely in the Cullen household. It had only been three days, but he was already teasing Esme, talking with Carlisle, and befriending Edward. We were still slightly stilted together, but that was really more my fault than his. I couldn't help it. What was I supposed to do? Fall all over him? Suddenly wake up and realize that I was actually a warm fuzzy person with a heart of gold? Not likely.

No. This was fine. I was Rosalie Lillian Hale, and I was fine. I was indestructible. I was invincible. I sat down to diagram, designing a new engine for my Frazier. If I lengthened—without realizing it, I drifted off, thinking absently about Emmett, wondering if _his_ family missed him. I knew he had one. Didn't everyone? Oh, wait, I didn't. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Rosalie. It doesn't suit you._ I gave myself a shake. I needed to wake up.

I glanced down at what I had absently doodled on the page. Rosalie Lillian Hale McCarty. I shook myself, glad that Edward was out of the room. What was I thinking? If I could have blushed, I would have. Don't be an idiot, Rose. Men have been nothing but trouble for you… always.

I needed to be strong. I needed to be Rosalie. I got up and ran outside. I needed to hunt.

**A/N the BREAKING DAWN IS OUT edition:**

**Tequila:** BREAKING DAWN IS OUT and isn't Rose so silly?

**Justin:** BREAKING DAWN IS OUT—Tequila, why are we saying that??

**Tequila**: BREAKING DAWN IS OUT because it's true, duh:D

**Justin:** BREAKING DAWN IS OUT can we stop now?? I think the readers will have gotten the message, they haven't been living under a rock, you know…

**Tequila:** BREAKING DAWN IS OUT Justin!! how dare you discriminate against people who live under rocks?! You, you… rock-live-under-ist!!

**Justin**: BREAKING DAWN IS OUT --sigh-- please review…


	10. Surrender

**Author's Apology:**

**Tequila:** oh, we are SO sorry!!!

**Justin**: it has been waaaay too long --cringe--

**Tequila**: but justin was hospitalized with a severe case of real life…

**Justin:** and Tequila's just a spazz, sadly…

**Tequila:** --mmph-- i don't see anything sad about it!!

**Justin:** so, yeah. We're sorry. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** nope. don't own. don't own any sense of time management either :S

Surrender

I was sitting underneath my Frazier, tinkering with the axle—it had been acting up lately—when it happened. Emmett walked in, as irritatingly confident and handsome (damn it! No! Not handsome…) as ever, and leaned down. I was expecting a predictably unintelligent comment, undeniably inevitable, that would work very nicely to distance myself from him…

But that's when it happened.

"That's the Mercury, right? 206 cubic inches, gets up to 65 horse, great transmission… it's a great car, angel."

I swallowed.

Oh, God.

Oh, _perfect._

In an instant—in less than an instant—I was out from underneath the car, leaving my tools and greasy rags behind, leaving the car up on jacks and opened to the air, leaving Emmett with his eyes (still that deep, bloody red that pulled me in and repulsed me all the same) wide and uncomprehending, leaving my confusion and pain far, far behind.

Before a full ten seconds had passed, I was out of the house and running furiously, faster than was really wise, unheeding of the terrain or climate, only desperate to run run run run run run run run.

He liked cars.

He knew cars.

He was handsome—and as shallow as I was, that was important to me. He was more than handsome, really. He was nearly as perfect as I was.

He was kind.

He wrote horrible poetry and brought me beautiful roses.

His laugh was… pleasant. More than pleasant.

His smile was as gentle as he could be, and yet, all the same, held all of his recklessness.

And his eyes did something to me that I could not understand.

Was that enough? Was that too much? What was it about him that distressed me so, that made me want without knowing what it was I wanted?

It was nearly sunrise by the time I returned to the house. I found Emmett and Esme gone—hunting—and Carlisle at the hospital. And Edward lying in wait in the living room.

"What _is_ it, Edward?" _Leave me alone._

"You know I can't do that, Rosalie. I cannot help what I hear, and what it… drives me to."

"Well, try. I don't want your help. I don't need your—"

Faster than a human's eye could have followed, he was on me, gripping me tightly about the arms, restraining me—I struggled, furious, how dare he—hug me?

"What the _hell_ are you doing, Edward?"

"Just be quiet and accept a little help for once, Rosalie Lillian Hale. Just… just be."

I held still, warring with the instincts that told me to fight, to flee, to do _something. _

"Rosalie. It's alright. He… he really cares, he's not going to hurt you—his thoughts are so… careful with you. Like he thinks you're going to break."

_I'm not—I won't—break._

"You're coming closer than you think, Rosalie."

I yanked myself out of his arms. "Thanks for the _advice_, Edward, but I'm fine."

He just nodded. I went upstairs to my bedroom and sat down on the bed that had never been slept in. What would it be like, to sleep again? To dream? My human memories, so precious, were dim and faded; I could only see them as an old sepia photograph or a black and white film. I could not remember what it was to forget, to sleep, to drift…

I wished with all my heart, dead as it was, that I could have, just for one moment, the feeling of my own heart beating, my lungs moving, my pulse rushing, my cheeks heating in a blush. If I could remember that, even, then perhaps I would know—how were you supposed to 'follow your heart' if you couldn't even remember what it felt like to have your pulse race, your heart throb?

I placed a hand on my stomach, over my forever barren womb. How could you love when there would be noting to show for it? How could any woman—how could anyone—

I could no longer cry. I found a bitter smile from deep within. Tears had always ruined my complexion, anyway. Even if I could cry, I wouldn't. I was Rosalie Lilian Hale, dammit, I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

I could do this. I could do anything. I was Nemesis, I was the eternal avenger, I was Rosalie, I was a goddamn immortal _vampire_, for the Lord's own sake. I was _perfection incarnate_.

I would not be defeated by my own insecurities, my own foolish fears and confusions. What was my heart, after Royce King? What was it about this dead piece of desiccated flesh that I could not conquer as effortlessly as I had everything else.

I stood up again… and I could hear Edward laughing.

By the time I was far enough into the forest that Edward couldn't _eavesdrop_, the nosy lummox, it was nearing dusk, and pouring rain. The forest was going to sleep for the night.

I would never sleep again.

But I would have to learn to live with that.

I stared into the woods, seeing but not registering the tall trees, the grass and underbrush, the falling water and deep cobalt sky. It was beautiful. I shut my eyes. "What," I murmured, "do I want? What do I really, really want?"

I waited, eyes shut, listening to the rain and the rustling and the tiny heartbeats of the living forest. My mind could only come up with one image, hovering tantalizingly just before my still-closed eyes.

Emmett McCarty. Staring at me—with those damn eyes, still they drove me to I knew not what—and smiling.

"Well then." I tilted my head up and let the rain wash through my hair, pooling and puddling on my skin, sluicing me clean. Of what, I wasn't sure, but I knew I felt lighter. Freer. Loose and liberated from some dark, clinging emotion.

"Well then. That's… that's that."

And I turned and ran back to the house.

He was waiting. Of course.

"Hello, Emmett."

"Hey angel. How've you been?"

His smile was wide and infectious. I felt my lips stretch into a smile, almost against my will. "Better now than at other times."

"Glad to hear that, Rosalie." He looked about. "I liked Michigan. What I've seen of it… good forests. Different from home," his face grew shadowed, "but good all the same."

I nodded. "Not too different from Rochester, either. Although I always lived in a city."

He grinned once more. "No cities for the McCarties… we're country folk through and through."

I laughed, just a little. "Well, I don't think a Hale has lived anywhere but a city since we came over to America."

He raised a hand, slowly, reverently, as if he thought I would vanish any moment, and touched the side of my face, my cheek, my hair. I moved forward as if bewitched, drawn by something I could not explain until I stood so close I could smell him, sweet musk and rich tree sap and molasses.

Slowly—God, so slowly, so torturously infinitely slowly—his lips came down until they brushed against mine.

It was barely a kiss, a mere bussof the lips, chaste and gentle and in most every way understated—not my style at all.

But I still swear, to this day, that the earth moved.

Sometimes, it felt so good to surrender.

**Author's Second Apology:**

**Tequila:** we're still here…

**Justin:** and we're still sorry…

**Tequila:** to anyone waiting on House Party or Awakened… coming soon—

**Justin:** we hope!


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